USUK Drabble Calendar: May 2014
by 365daysofUSUK
Summary: A drabble a day keeps you in USUK! The file for the USUK Drabble Calendar, the month of May in the year of 2014.
1. May 1st, 2014

May 1st, 2014 - Sing Sing Sing

**ARTIST:** alfiewithfries

**AUTHOR: **backwardswriter

**May 1st, 2014 - Sing Sing Sing**

It was this bloody prohibition. It gave him a right headache trying to get good liquor around here. And not the good kind of headache either, the kind that the good liquor gave him. No, this was one of those "I'm tired and I want to go to bed but I can't without a shot of scotch first" headaches. The kind that always came up after a day of work he'd been volunteered for.

He still had no idea why they thought _he _was the best man for the job. They knew he had a drinking problem. He knew he had a drinking problem. _Everyone _knew he had a drinking problem. But they decided to send him to the only bloody country in the world that _outlaws alcohol. _Honestly.

Needless to say, it made his job that much harder. Well, maybe not the specific job he'd been assigned to- Capone might have been behind a few speakeasies they'd busted, though those hadn't really been relevant to the case- but working as a whole was much more conflicting. He was a detective of Scotland Yard sent over to help these ruddy Americans get rid of some crime lord taking over the whole city. It would be nice if they'd at least tell him where they kept all the liquor they confiscated. Maybe then he'd be a little more inclined to help move the case along.

Either way, things were moving slow, and it didn't look like he would be going home anytime soon. So he'd finally decided to hell with conflict of interest. He was going to have a drink and he was going to like it. He'd left his badge and any authoritative paraphernalia at home, donned his favourite trenchcoat with the collar turned up against the bitter Chicago wind- and against any who might recognize him- and gone scouting for one of the speakeasies he'd heard one of the younger detectives talking about. Apparently, he wasn't the only corrupt officer on the force.

A rap of knuckles against the door, a murmur of the secret word- Hollocher? Honestly, these people didn't have any mind outside of drinks and sports- and he was suddenly engulfed by the smell of body odor and homemade liquor. God, he hoped they at least had a decently aged Scotch.

It was more crowded than he'd expected an underground tavern to be. Then again, that might have been his own fault for underestimating the human tendency towards corruption. He squeezed his way through two busty flappers and a pair of even bustier men with drinks overflowing with some foul smelling liquid. I wrinkled my nose in distaste and tried to find where exactly the bar was. I just wanted a drink. I didn't need to associate with these people very long. Just long enough to have my sip and get the hell out.

Of course nothing was that easy.

I managed to find where people were getting their drinks with more difficulty than I'd hoped. But eventually I was hidden away in a corner, drinking what the barkeep had claimed was scotch but actually tasted a bit more like southern moonshine. Whatever. I had been assured the alcohol content was more than satisfactory and, in the end, that was all that mattered. I was actually starting to enjoy myself, watching the loads of men and women dance and drink and ultimately make utter fools of themselves. There was a slight buzz in the back of my head that told me the alcohol was doing its job. I snagged another, but before I could make it back to my reclusive table, I was stopped by a tall man that somehow managed to be even louder than the entirety of the rest of the party.

"I don't think I've seen you around here before," the man said, a huge grin on his lips.

I stared up at him, only an inch or so up, but up nonetheless. He was handsome, by conventional standards, and not the type I would expect to see in a place like this. He seemed more the "mother's little angel" type, with his wide, innocent, blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses and a smile that nearly lit up the whole room. But there he was, glass of questionable liquid in one hand while the other was tucked into the front pocket of his trousers. He had the confident-yet-casual stance of someone who should be negotiating business over a glass of wine, not chatting up a stranger in a shady tavern surrounded by ne'er-do-wells and a handful of desperate men.

I stared up at him for only a moment before turning and brushing past him, not really in the mood for conversation. But I was already beginning to think that two drinks would not cut it tonight. But I'd only be so lucky to run into the only man in the whole tavern who seemed determined to chat up someone who clearly was not there for the company. "Hey!" he yelped, and I could hear him shuffling through the crowd in a mixture of "excuse mes" and "sorrys" even as I tried to get away. "Wait, I was talking to you."

"Yes, but you see, I'm not really here to talk," I said, channeling every ounce of blunt energy I had as I continued to slide between the mass of humanity. "I'm just here for the liquor."

"Neither is anyone else," the handsome man said, suddenly appearing in front of me with a much too excited look on his face and now no glass of liquid in hand. "I mean, no one is here to talk. They're all here to drink. I guarantee none of these people have ever met before tonight."

I spared him a slightly longer glance this time before deciding that no, he was not in fact worth my time, and turning to take a different course back to my corner. Unfortunately, and despite his looks, he was apparently a smart one and anticipated my escape, sidestepping to block my path. "Is there something specific I can help you with?" I asked shortly, letting my temper shine through finally. "Or are you just here to bother me until I hand you my drink and leave?"

Oddly enough, the boy actually seemed hurt by my words. I didn't have the stomach for that and I sighed, rubbing the heel of my hand against my damp forehead. The room was starting to get unbearably warm. "What is it you want?" I asked, biting out the words in what I hope at least appeared to be an attempt at patience.

He perked up a bit at that and held out his hand. "A dance," he said, jerking a head at the throng of men and women throwing themselves about. "You and me."

My eyes widened and my jaw dropped and if it weren't for the flush already glowing about my cheeks I'm sure that would've been an obvious change as well. "I beg your pardon? I don't dance with other _men_."

As I desperately tried to ignore the way my heart was racing in my chest despite the best efforts of the alcohol in my system, the brazen lad before just tipped his head back and laughed. Outright laughed, as if I'd said something extremely hilarious. "Calm down, it's not like anyone is gonna see us! No one pays attention in there. I'm pretty damn sure the girl in the yellow would've been arrested a dozen times over if anyone cared. Come on now, gimme an honest answer. Dance with me?"

I opened my mouth to give a very, _very _honest answer, but nothing came out. I don't know if it was the way his smile hooked to the side a little bit or if it was how honestly excited those blue, blue eyes looked at the prospect of dancing with me or if it was something inside myself that had me drawn to him. Either way, something caused me to knock back what was left of my drink and wipe my mouth on my sleeve. "Only if you buy me another drink afterwards," I grumbled. "Lord knows I'm going to need to be properly drunk to forget tonight."

He laughed again, a full, deep sound that seemed loud even in our raucous surroundings. He snatched my empty glass up and shoved his hand into a crowd, pulling it back empty like a magic trick. "Everyone's desperate for a lick of something," he said in answer to my astonished expression.

I was going to give some sort of proud snark of an answer, but before I could say anything, I was dragged onto the dance floor. And it soon became clear that I would not need that other drink tonight.

We danced. I don't know how long it went on, but it was the most confusing, maddening, exhausting and exhilarating all at the same time. I lost myself in the twirling and the kicking and the dancing and before I knew what I was happening I'd lost myself in him as well. That perfectly strange stranger that had the audacity to laugh and smile and seem wholeheartedly _happy_ as he dragged me around the dance floor and between sweaty bodies of raunchy prostitutes and morbidly obese men.

"What's your name?" he shouted over the music and shrieks of the dancers around us.

"Arthur," I shouted back without even thinking and by God I was smiling like a fool for that stupid boy. "And yours?"

I saw his lips move as he said his own name, but the music was so loud and I was so drunk from the liquor and the atmosphere and from him I couldn't hear what he said to me. But I didn't care. It added to the thrill, no knowing his name. It added mystery and beauty to him that suited him better than any name could.

And it wouldn't matter what his name was anyway because halfway through the night my memory left me. I kept drinking, I know that for a fact, and I kept dancing and the whole time I know, _I __know _I was with him. And I don't know why I was so drawn to him but I was. And I don't know a lot of things about that night or what happened when back at my flat or what happened the next morning. But I know he was there for all of it.

And when I woke up the next morning with the hangover of my life and legs that felt like lead, I somehow didn't mind at all. Not when I saw note beside my bed with the scrawled words, "Guess you weren't just there for the liquor."


	2. May 2nd, 2014

May 2nd, 2014

**ARTIST: **iamtsundere

**AUTHOR:** iamtsundere

**May 2nd, 2014**

From a window, a student with green eyes watched two girls laugh as they entered the school building. He looked like any other student, except for a little detail, you could almost see through him. His name was Arthur.

This school was a really good one. Almost every student the city have had assisted there. Rumors and legends about ghosts weren't a surprise and adults did not mind them, or at least tried to not.

Arthur was one the school's ghosts, but he was different. Ghosts usually did scary things to scare the living humans; Arthur hated scaring people like that, but he loved spending time in the library reading. Arthur spent 3 years "alone", trying to make humans bring him tea at the library when he couldn't find the librarian's tea, hiding things or just messing things up for the fun of it. That was quite… lame.

But one day, another ghost appeared.

Looking at the clock you could see why the school was empty, except for clubs and sport activities. Arthur was looking at the pavement from the window and saw a boy trying to cross to the other side. He looked to both sides before crossing and then started to walk. Unfortunately a car at high speed appeared out of nowhere and… It was so sudden he even felt sad for the poor boy.

The next morning, Arthur was going to annoy some students, when he saw the boy from yesterday standing in the middle of the hallway.

"So he's here" he thought. Maybe the boy will do normal ghost things, or he will be one of those tortured souls that seeks help from the humans. But he turned out to be the same as Arthur, he didn't want to scare people, he followed Arthur everywhere. His name was Alfred.

"Hey Arthur wait" or "Artie so you were the tea ghost" and "We should be friends" Were things you always heard the American say when he tried to talk to the Brit.

Eventually they became friends and did boring stuff with their current "abilities" Alfred sometimes sneaked a soda or two to the library, so he could drink while Arthur drank tea. Consequently, Arthur always scolded Alfred for drinking "that thing" in such a sacred place as the library.

Arthur was kind of hard to approach sometimes, but they understood each other. Alfred understood when Arthur did not want to be bothered when he was reading, so he silently watched him while pretending he was doing something else, and Arthur understood when Alfred saw his brother in school, so he always tried to cheer him up.

Months passed and it was obvious that feelings where growing between the two, how typical.

Apart from the normal ghost things they could do, they could also influence humans. Almost every ghost did one bad thing once in a while because "It was fuuuuuuun". Arthur thought that was a waste of time while Alfred found it interesting. He thought he could help people with that, just like superheroes with their powers. So one day he decided to be a "hero".

"Hey Arthur"

"Yes Alfred?"

"Do you… um, you see I… no" Alfred was clearly bothered by something, he was blushing and had his eyes fixated on the floor

"Don't worry just say it"

"Okay… but don't think it's stupid." Alfred stopped for a second " I want to help someone to confess to their loved one"

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows "Eh? Wait" and he shook his head "It is none of my business if you don't want to say it." But Alfred didn't stop.

"Because!… this guy has liked this person for so long, but he just needs a little push to say it. Will you please pleeeeease help me practice"

Arthur stayed quiet, it wasn't anger nor happiness. Here he was going to help his love interest say some words that he would use to help someone, but those would probably be the words he always longed for, but would never get. Alfred was nervous and his eyed screamed "PLEASE" so he couldn't say no.

"Okay.. Let's just end this. What do you want me to do?"

Alfred smiled and grabbed the Brit's hand "Just hear and watch" Arthur couldn't understand how fast Alfred could go from nervous and fidgeting to calm and confident.

"I've always loved you. Even if you seem hard to approach, you're a wonderful person"

Alfred was quiet for a moment and that bothered Arthur. "What if he decides it's weird to practice it with me? That would sure be very awkward" but just when he thought Alfred was going to stop, he continued.

"The way you change your expressions while you read, and that way of closing the book when you finish, like it was the best one you ever read" Alfred stopped. He tried to think of less embarrassing things to say, he had to be short and sweet "The way you always show your feeling through your eyes and the things you like. I couldn't help it and I fell for you"

Arthur was, by now, far too gone in Alfred's words. He didn't notice when their faces got closer, but he was thankful for it. Seeing Alfred's eyes from such a close view. Arthur thought they had that twinkle someone in love had. He felt so happy yet so sad because those words weren't meant to him, but he couldn't help to think that maybe Alfred was really talking to him, and not just practicing.

"… That was perfect, there's no way you'll fail." Arthur patted Alfred's back with a smile "So go and help him, I bet she feels the same. Tell me how it goe-"

Alfred laughed "Arthur, I didn't said I finished"

"Okay then" The air filled with anticipation.

"So please" Alfred smiled and grabbed Arthur's hands "Go out with me Arthur"

Arthur gasped, he didn't break eye contact, and instinctively inched closer. He noticed how close they were and tried to move when Alfred did the same, closing the distance between them.

"You're truly a git, Alfred"

Alfred didn't complain. It was obvious he was too nervous to try to deny that and say something. "..So, is it a yes or a no?"

Arthur smiled and kissed him again.

"Of course it is a yes"

And the two laughed.


	3. May 3rd, 2014

May 3rd, 2014

**AUTHOR:** alfredfjonesing

**May 3rd, 2014**

England leaned back straight against the trunk of a young Virginia oak as he let out a contented sigh. Peaceful days were hard to come by for empires like him while the seventeenth century wore on, pride and avarice fueling constant disputes over New World territory. England allowed his eyes to slip closed for a brief moment and breathed in deep the early afternoon air, a long-neglected collection of poems by Shakespeare ready on his lap.

Before he even made it past the second page, the screeching of his name by a familiar voice forced his attention. He looked up quickly to see his newest little colony scampering up to him, one arm hidden behind his back and throwing him off-balance. His white baptismal shift was littered with grass stains despite being in pristine condition when England brought him outside a mere five minutes ago.

"England! England!" he chanted without pause, coming to an unsteady stop in front of his caretaker. England couldn't suppress a foreign smile that softened his features at the boy's infectious enthusiasm. His young charge often had that effect on him.

"Yes, America, yes." England reached out to ruffle a bedraggled mop of golden hair affectionately as the smallest of chuckles bubbled from his chest. "What is it, lad?"

And in the most innocent way imaginable, America said, "Close your eyes and open your mouth!"

To this day, England does not know what possessed him to do just that. He knew better, honestly, than to allow a filthy little boy to shove God knows what into his mouth, and yet it happened. Looking back on it, he supposes a part of him must have assumed it would be something harmless, like one of the native berries America was always so excited to show him.

What he got, however, was the sudden unpleasant sensation of something almost _fluffy_ being thrust clumsily straight to the back of his throat. England immediately reopened his eyes, gagging and sputtering, to the sight of America with the remains of a seeding dandelion clutched in his fingers. A delighted giggle erupted from the child as he watched his normally well-composed guardian struggle to spit out the dozens of clinging seeds in indignant shock.

"_America_, what in the _King's name_—" England didn't have a chance to finish. He went to stand up and America gave a playful shriek before he took off running in the direction of their shared home. Without wasting another second, England clambered to his feet and gave chase, the book of poems left forgotten in the grass behind them.


	4. May 4th, 2014

May 4th, 2014 - "May the Fourth…"

**AUTHOR:** zeplerfer

**May 4th, 2014 - "May the Fourth…"**

"The target will not be easy," the rebel leader warned. "It's a small thermal exhaust port. A precise hit will start a chain reaction that should destroy the station."

A murmur of disbelief filled the room. "That shot's impossible! Even for a droid," one of the pilots objected.

Alfred shook his head, eyes gleaming as he considered the risky plan. "It's not impossible. I used to bullseye swamp-rats in my T-sixteen back home. They're not much bigger."

"Well, impossible or not, it's our only hope. Suit up and prepare your ships!" a new voice called from the back of the room. She rested a hand on Alfred's shoulder and gave him a concerned look. "Be careful out there."

He offered Princess Madeleine a cheerful grin and reached out to ruffle her hair. "Don't worry. The hero never fails!" He glanced around the room, looking for his favorite surly pilot. "Where's Arthur?" he asked, unable to spot the smuggler's mop of messy blond hair anywhere.

Madeleine shook her head as she pinned her blond buns back into place. "I'm so sorry. I think he's already left."

Alfred's heart constricted. Barely noticing the warning sirens, he dashed through the hangar, dodging droids and pilots left and right. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted Arthur's spaceship, the Lustrum Robin, still in the docking bay. With a final burst of speed, he raced the final distance to the ship.

"Arthur, wait up!" Alfred shouted.

The smuggler paused on the boarding ramp and turned around, his expression as calm as ever, even as the sirens blared. Alfred caught his breath at the base of the ramp, pained that Arthur would leave without even saying goodbye.

"So… you got your reward and you're just running away?"

Arthur shrugged. "I'd be daft to stick around here."

"Look around! You know what they're up against. Don't turn your back on us."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "What good is a reward if I can't spend it? I didn't sign up for a suicide mission, which is exactly what you're getting yourself into." His expression softened as he gestured to the boarding ramp. "Come with us. You're pretty good in a fight."

"No," Alfred said, gritting his teeth. "I don't desert people who need me." He sighed. "Take care of yourself, Arthur. I guess that's what you're good at."

Alfred turned on his heels and joined the stream of rebel pilots. Jumping into his assigned plane, he angrily wiped his eyes.

"This T0N1 unit seems a bit beat up. Do you want a new one?" a mechanic called from below as she unhooked the fueling hose.

Alfred shook his head. "Not on your life! This little droid and I have been through a lot together. Right, Tony?"

T0N1 chirped his agreement as he was lowered into Alfred's fighter plane. He beeped again, ending on an upward note.

Alfred sighed. "No, Arthur won't be joining us."

T0N1 beeped happily.

"Yeah, I thought you'd say that," Alfred replied as he smiled wanly. He gripped the wheel tightly. Arthur was right about one thing, this would be a suicide mission if he wasn't careful.

Laser-bolts streaked past as the planes approached the enemy target at full speed. The Death Star's turrets had been designed to hit larger ships and had difficulty hitting the small planes. Alfred dodged the enemy fighters' blasts and fired his own laser. A ship exploded in front of him, singeing part of his wing as he zoomed past.

"Red-7, you've got one on your tail!" Alfred warned.

"I can't shake it!" the pilot shouted back.

"Hang on, I'm coming in!"

Alfred shot the enemy aircraft, but another dozen showed up to take its place. He skimmed the surface of the Death Star, hoping that the imperials wouldn't want to shoot their own ship. Racing through the trench at top speeds, he and the other rebel pilots dodged turret fire while enemy fighters continued to pick them off one by one.

"Proton blast fired!" a rebel leader called, only to add a moment later. "It's a miss."

"On your tail, red-5!" another voice warned. Alfred tried to dodge, but he heard an explosion and horrible beep from T0N1.

"Tony? _Tony_!" he shouted.

Grimly navigating on his own through the metallic canyon, Alfred despaired that he would ever reach the target in time. And without T0N1, he lacked his best targeting device. He focused on the port, praying that he could take the shot before he was hit.

Alfred heard another set of explosions behind him, but this time it was the enemies under fire as the Lustrum Robin passed over the trench. It seemed that his prayers had been answered.

"You're all clear, lad. And… may the force be with you," Arthur radioed.

The young pilot focused and pushed the trigger button. He held his breath and then whooped as he saw the proton blast disappear into the port. They barely made it out of the blast radius before the Death Star exploded like a fiery super nova.

Not even noticing the cheering rebels, Alfred leapt out of his plane as soon as he landed and raced to the Lustrum Robin. He met Arthur halfway up the boarding ramp. He lifted the other man and spun him in a circle.

"I knew you would come back," Alfred whispered as he set Arthur on the ground and gazed into sparkling green eyes. Arthur opened his mouth to deliver a witty response, except that Alfred leaned forward and stopped his words with a passionate kiss.

Princess Madeleine laughed as Arthur's co-pilot Kumajirougrumbled nearby. "Did you want a hug, too?" she asked, reaching over to embrace the wookiee.

"Rrrarrr!" the wookiee complained.

"Sorry, Kuma-whatsyourname, if you want a kiss, don't look at me," the princess replied.

Still, she smiled as the two blonds continued to kiss amidst the cheering, celebrating rebels. The Death Star was gone. And as an added bonus, she wasn't going to have to put up with Alfred and Arthur's painful sexual tension any longer.


	5. May 5th, 2014

May 5th, 2014 - The Cockroach Song Plays On and On

**AUTHOR: Pepper's Ghost**

**May 5th, 2014 - The Cockroach Song Plays On and On**

_Warnings: Vaguely implied political problems and mentions of historical events._

X

Lights on.

Car in the driveway.

Clearly someone was home.

No point in putting it off anymore, thought England as he rung the cheerful doorbell.

The last thing England was expecting when he opened the door was to be blown away by a wave of triumphal mariachi music. Or to be greeted enthusiastically with America in an oversized sombrero and loose white garments.

"OMG This is perfect!" said America. "Matthew bailed on me and I didn't want to have to throw my party all by myself."

"Party?" said England.

America had already skippered off with England's luggage giving England a full view of the house. There were tacky chili lights of every color everywhere and other forms of Mexicana scattered throughout the living space. The smell of cooking food assaulted England's nose and he couldn't help but think that having the TV playing traditional fiesta music in what appeared to be a recording of a parade and another music player playing a different set of Mexican tunes somewhere else in the house was a bit overkill.

"Did you lose a bet to Mexico or something?" England said.

"What?" said America. His head was poking out of the kitchen so England went in that direction. More of the Mexican overkill was in the kitchen too. America's flag apron was completely out of place amongst the whole thing.

England couldn't help his mouth water at the site of all of the wonderful smelling food cramming every square inch of the counter.

"Oh you mean all this?" said America. "It's Cinco de Mayo."

"And the 5th of May is special because?"

"And here I thought you were innately aware of every holiday that celebrates the French getting their asses handed to them! 1862 – the Battle of Puebla. Any bells?"

"And as the national representative of the United States of America you felt the need to celebrate a Mexican victory."

"Sure! It marks the last time any military force has managed to invade North America so that's pretty cool," said America. "Some people even say that the Mexican victory really saved my bacon with the war between the states and all…long reaching consequences and all that. Besides - It's been celebrated continuously in one part of me or other since 1863! Now it's just mostly a big cultural blow out fest for Mexican-Americans."

"Still doesn't seem like the thing you'd get in to."

"Course it is. I like to celebrate all of my people's off the wall holidays! It doesn't matter if it's Cinco de Mayo or St. Patrick's Day or Oktoberfest or Chinese New Year or Marti Gras or Leif Erickson Day or whatever. Any day to celebrate is a good day in my book."

"So why isn't Mexico here?"

"Because this is a holiday about my people. Mexico hardly even celebrates this day. Why invite someone who is only going to tell me that I'm wrong or stupid for celebrating Cinco de Mayo. Besides I can eat all this good food without having do any sort of posturing."

"It is quite the spread you have."

"You're just in time too because my super awesome nacho is going to be done right~" There was a dramatic pause as America waited a beat too long for the oven to ding before assaulting the oven. "Now!"

The oven creaked open with a mighty groan to unveil a mound of palate pleasing goodness. America's star spangled oven mitts carefully grasped the sides of the doublewide cookie sheet and moved it to the only remaining open space on the kitchen's extended counter top. America then hastily grabbed some surrounding dishes – a variety of salsas, guacamole, sour cream – the usual stuff and situated himself in front of the piping hot mass.

"Grab a seat Arthur!" said America. He pulled out one of the bar stools for added emphasis and patted the top.

Not one to complain about being fed England sat down and dug in.

The pair munched on whatever was in arms length – all kept conveniently warm via special heating dishes or small portable warmers.

"So a little birdie told me that you're hiding out from Europe Day or something," said America through a mouthful of empanada.

"I am not hiding! I'm just choosing to not be there," said England.

"Choosing to blow off one cultural celebration in exchange for celebrating another – that's a pretty low blow dontcha think," America said.

England just continued to defiantly eat his taco.

"That's ok," America continued. "I'm kinda glad you're here." England could tell the other wanted to hold his hand but seeing as both nation's hands were preoccupied with food he settled for a gentle shoulder bump.

"Hey!" said America. "I've got an idea. How 'bout after we finish eating I teach you how to Mexican Hat Dance or something. That'd be swell."

"If you can somehow convince me that there is some way you can connect yourself to that particular dance then, in honor of the holiday, sure."

"Yanno I'm pretty sure they named that dance after my awesome city in Utah maybe. Like in my mescal fueled dreams or something."

"Now I know you're full of it."

"37°9′54″N, 109°51′56″W"

"In English please."

"Mexican Hat is located on the San Juan River, sort of by Goosenecks State Park, Monument Valley and a whole bunch of Navajo-er, Diné stuff."

"Bloody well fine. After dinner it is then."

"Awesome! I can't wait to kiss you at the end!"

X

_Author's Notes: I was at a loss of what to do for this day and was halfway though a really, really bad Europe Day fic and then realized I was an idiot for not doing a Cinco de Mayo celebration. Because what's more American then that right? But seriously, with all of the "Mexican food" that American's enjoy there's no way Alfred could pass up a food holiday with so much wonderful goodness. Purposefully not inviting Mexico was just par for the course. For those not in the know, the War Between the States was the more popular term for the American Civil War until somewhat recently. Also, Diné is what the Navajo people call themselves. As a minor aside, Canada was the one to rat England out to America. Lastly, the title is in reference to La Cucaracha or "the Cockroach Song" which is one of the quintessential ditties that Americans tend to hum when they thing "Mexican song." The song itself has a long and varied history that is just about as confusing as the whole Cinco de Mayo thing itself._


	6. May 6th, 2014

May 6th, 2014

**AUTHOR:** incomprehensibleking

**May 6th, 2014**

It was a boiling hot day, and very unusual for the area and the time of month. Which meant that no one had predicted it and that no one was dressed properly for the boiling sun that fried anyone that still was wearing a coat. A young collage student walked through the crowed streets; sweat pouring from every imaginable place. He was dragging two suitcases behind him, which were jumping back on forth on the cobble street as he moved passed ice-cream vendors and annoyed citizens. Alfred wasn't prepared for the weather and he was still in his big thick bomber jacket and jeans. He passed by a fountain, which was flocked by people who looked tempted to 'accidently' fall in. It had been several months since he had been here and there was a skip to his step. He stopped suddenly as he reached his destination, a small natural looking flower shop with a sign in neat cursive saying the word: Open. He pushed open the door; a little bell rang as he stepped into the air-conditioned room and waltzed up to a man with disheveled blond hair who was bending over an arrangement of flowers that was coming together really nicely.

"Surprise." Alfred grinned wrapping his arms around the slightly smaller man and kissed him on the cheek. The man smiled and turned so that he could properly hug him.

"Welcome back."


	7. May 7th, 2014

May 7th, 2014 - The Coffee Shop Down the Street

**AUTHOR: **givemelibertea

**May 7th, 2014 - The Coffee Shop Down the Street**

It was bizarre how their life felt complete once they visited the coffee shop down the street. Arthur was the book-smart type and he liked to read and study whilst Alfred was the opposite, liking to play sports and party. On one sunny day, they both went to the shop in the hopes of getting some quality time out. Neither of them knew it at the time, but they were both lonely in a way that only they could understand, and from the first moment on, when Alfred looked at Arthur in front of him in the line, he knew that they'd be good friends. However, when they both went to pick up their drinks at the counter, Alfred was captivated by his eyes, and he was lost in the endless expanses of green until he was snapped out by outraged cries.

"Watch what you're doing!" the blond yelled angrily, and Alfred noted how his English accent was so charming.

"I'm sorry, I guess I was distracted," Alfred chuckled sheepishly and extended his hand. "Let me make it up to you. My name's Alfred."

"Well then, Alfred, I'm Arthur, and you've ruined my shirt, so I'm going home," Arthur slapped his hand away and made his way out the door. Alfred watched him go with a strange fascination and from then on, Arthur Kirkland had his complete attention.

The second time they met, they were both there to study for exams, along with everyone else trying to cram. So after touring the café three whole times, Arthur realized he had no place to sit, and decided to call it quits. He went for the door but right before he left, his name was called and he let out a breath of frustration because he recognized that voice, although he gladly would've forgotten it if it was his choice.

"Hey Arthur! Come say hello," Alfred grinned when he looked over, and before he knew it, he was striding to his side. "I hope you remember me."

"How could I forget?" Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're the one who just gave me more laundry."

"I hope you're not still mad about it," Alfred laughed, and before he could reply, he kicked the chair facing him. "Sit!"

Arthur wanted to decline, but Alfred's eyes held a sort of reverent shine in them, and he couldn't imagine him without it.

Neither of them studied that day, but after that it was needless to say that they both became reluctant friends, and evolved that way until the end.

On the ninth meet in the coffee shop down the street, Alfred had found an eccentric way to greet Arthur when he came in. He waved him over, and when Arthur took a seat, he presented to him a bouquet of roses that each looked unique. Arthur shakily took them and his gaze silently questioned Alfred's motives. Alfred's eyes offered no reason but his words of love sounded like treason.

"I know we didn't get off to a good start, but I'm saying this with all my heart. I kind of love you, so will you say that you'll be mine and never leave?"

And Arthur thought he should say no, return the flowers, get up and go, because he didn't expect this on the very first day where he ended up befriending Alfred despite the mess he'd made. And what a mess he'd made now, unearthing emotions that had been buried down for so long that Arthur even forgot how good it felt to be loved unconditionally.

And so he said; "You're so silly," and he clutched the bouquet of roses near and out the window went all of his fear when he leaned over the table and kissed him. "Don't you tell the entire world, but I'm yours to keep and you've dug yourself deep, so don't you think that you can slip away with a broken promise, because from now on, I'm here to stay."

And Alfred laughed and kissed him until his cheeks turned pink and Arthur couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be than the coffee shop down the street.

The twenty-seventh time they met at the coffee shop down the street, the happenings were rather bittersweet. Arthur would come to know it as the end of an era, but Alfred would from then on persevere to move forward. It was an accident, happened so fast, not quite unlike their accidents in the past, the first spilled tea and the few kissing sprees, making love on the beach and loving to simply be.

But on the twenty-seventh time they visited their sanctuary, it rained badly and the vision got blurry and the driver didn't see Arthur until the crosswalk was reached and Arthur didn't realize he was hurt until he heard Alfred screech. It was his name he cried up to the skies and Arthur had always been terrified of goodbyes, so he reached up a bloody hand for comfort, wanting to appease both of their hurt. Alfred called the authorities, the police cars and the emergency, and he never let go of his love, all while looking at the skies above and praying for the first time in his life for some god out there not to let Arthur die.

And as the ambulance turned down the corner, Arthur called his lover's name in horror, face pale and eyes in tears, and it was torture to Alfred's ears. So he held him in his lap and kissed his cheek, hummed a broken tune to his heartbeat, choked on sorrow when he told Arthur to sleep while he cradled him in front of the coffee shop down the street.

_BONUS:_ Arthur got better through a cold December, watching the snow fall through his window, smiling through the stitches and the cast he had to show. When he left, Alfred took him home, and their life together began again in a brand new tome. They changed in subtle ways, exchanging a more loving gaze, loosing themselves in a blissful haze and leaving behind the sadder days. They grew close and understood the other in a manner they'd never understood before, and lost themselves in the throes of passion that emerged from their very core. They went on dates, the occasional restaurant or bar, the long nights that ended with sex in their car, the hours spent in the library to read and laugh and drink coffee, and the evenings by the fireplace sipping tea, falling asleep in front of a movie, the walks in a weather too chilly, and all in all, days where they'd declare their love to the other and forget, smooch and giggle as if they'd only just met. It was grand, it was all they wanted when they held hands and remembered that they were still together, despite the accident that had threatened their promised forever.

And their life was complete and their life was so sweet when they woke up and had no one but one another to greet. The change had been discreet, but the results had been worth it, for moving on would be all they'd ever need. They moved on through the summers of stifling heat and the winters spent cuddling under the sheets, and through all that time, never again did they meet at the fateful coffee shop down the street.


	8. May 8th, 2014

May 8th, 2014 - Colours Of Smiles

**AUTHOR:** thedevilssong

May 8th, 2014 -**Colours Of Smiles**

He'd walked past the shop every day going to and from work, but he'd never actually stepped inside. How often were flowers useful? Rarely. And so he'd never had much occasion to visit the quaint little florist down the road and he'd never intended to. That'd been until two weeks ago.

He had left the coffee shop next door, head turned slightly to acknowledge the 'Bye, Alfred!' called out to him when a burst of colour had caught his attention.

"Shit, shit, shit," chanted the blonde man, frantically scrabbling to get all the bright blue and purple blossoms into the pot he'd dropped. When Alfred saw no one stopping to help him, he jogged over and crouched down.

"Here, let me give you a hand." He moved to grab a few of the flowers at the same time as the other man and laughed, looking up to face him.

_Holy shit._

A bright smile of gleaming white and plush red stole his attention before he saw the peaceful green eyes. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and it took a moment for Alfred's mind to catch up and remember this was an actual human being who was currently speaking to him in a rushed babble.

"-And oh thank you so much, I just got these flowers in today and it'd be such a shame if they were squashed. I'm Arthur, it's a pleasure to meet you." Arthur extended his hand, and after a moment Alfred took it before they both grabbed the rest of the flowers and stood up.

With an expectant look from Arthur, Alfred suddenly recalled his manners. "I'm, uh, I'm Alfred. I'm guessing you're not from around here?"

Arthur chuckled. "No, I'm originally from England. I moved to San Francisco for school a few years back and just never left."

Alfred opened his mouth to reply when the clock on the outside wall of the shop caught his eye. "Crap, I'm going to be late for work. I'll, uh, see you later Artie!"

He made to leave when Arthur called after him. "Wait! I just want to say thanks again. Drop by anytime and I'll give you a free bouquet. Or, ah, even just some company?"

Alfred turned, taking in the vibrant flush and the shy smile with a strange sort of happiness settled in his chest. "Of course! I look forward to it!" And with a wink he'd taken off.

Now he stood in front of the shop on the cobblestone path and felt strangely intimidated by the tall windows, the bursts of flowers and the cheery sign proclaiming the building 'In Full Bloom'. He'd seen Arthur around the shop since their encounter, but he'd never had the guts to speak to him once again. Instead he'd admired from afar, wondering what it would be like when he spoke to Arthur again. He'd swept in like a hero the first time, he could keep it up! That particular positivity never lasted long.

_Maybe I should turn around,_ he thought. _Arthur was probably just being polite._ It was just as he was beginning to turn that he caught sight of Arthur through the window, a smile of soft pink alighting his face as he gently touches the bright Birds of Paradise blossoms in front of him.

Alfred stepped forward, pushing open the door of the shop almost in a trance. Arthur looked up as the bell above the door tinkled merrily and the smile grew.

"Hey, Artie. Is the second meeting too late to tell you that if you were a flower, I'd pick you?"

A moment of silence greeted him. _Crap, crap, you freaked him out, you screwed up, abort mission! Abort mission!_

Then a loud, booming laugh fell from Arthur's lips, hands clutching his belly as he doubled over. For a moment Alfred could only see the top of his blonde head, but then Arthur stood straight once again, wiped a tear from his eye and said, "That's exactly what I was planning to tell you."

The smile that followed was blinding.


	9. May 9th, 2014

May 9th, 2014 - Of Flowers and Life

**ARTIST:** theawesomehero

**AUTHOR:** sweetayako15

**May 9th, 2014 - Of Flowers and Life**

Red, blue, yellow, purple, green…

So many colours, so many scents.

Fresh, rain, earth, air, life…

"Life is like a bed of flowers," Arthur stated as he wiped away the soft, dark soil off of his pants where the thin, khaki fabric covered his knees. He pulled off the garden gloves and tipped back his wide-brimmed straw hat before turning to his partner. The other man say ay an iron table in one of the two matching chairs, all painted white, in the shade of the large oak tree a few yards away. Younger than Arthur by a couple of years, Alfred yawned and reclined against the chair till a couple of soft "pops" were heard from underneath the skin of the American's back.

"How's that Artie?" Alfred yawned as he settled back into the cold arms of the metal chair. The younger man's blue eyes searched Arthur's green ones through the thin glass of his wire-framed glasses. The viridian eyes grew closer till the British man was only a table's length away.

"Well, the flowers are like people. They start out as seeds, infants if you will, and grow till they reach their prime, with bright coloured petals to attract bees, just as people seek to attract lovers. Then, after they have full filled their reproductive stage, they wilt and die. They die with so many others like them, but never realize that they aren't alone, too caught up in their own purposes to consider anyone else," Arthur explained as he set his hat down on the table, turning to look at where he was just standing a minute before.

Alfred followed the other man's sight over to the flower bed, which was weed free due to the other blonde's hard labor. Thinking on Arthur's words, Alfred sighed and reached for an empty glass and the pitcher full of lemonade, ice, and fresh mint leaves that perspired in the heat of spring. He poured the cool liquid into the glass, passing it silently over to his company before pouring one for himself.

"I know that you always say I'm an 'illiterate idiot', but I think you are wrong on that subject," Alfred spoke smoothly, drinking the lemonade soon after and enjoying the way the acidity burnt his throat slightly as the mint soothed it.

"Oh?" Arthur lifted a thick brow as he set the glass down on the table from his lips. "How so?" the Englishman asked, amused.

Alfred said nothing for a while, only staring out at the flower bed as he took small swigs of his drink then and again. Arthur soon accepted the silence and turning his attention towards his whole garden, which seemed to grow each year as he added on new sections such as the flower bed. He prided himself in the greenery, how strong and healthy each plant was, just as if he treated each and every one as his own child. He was glad the sun was out, all of his plants needed as much of it as possible when it came to the unpredictability of English weather.

"You forgot something,"

Arthur turned his head lazily to the side; eyes gliding away from his precious garden to the American whose eyes remained on said garden as he spoke.

"And what would that be, Love?"

Alfred paused again before mirroring Arthur's movements till they were staring at each other, waiting to see who would break the eye contact first. Alfred gave him a gentle, heart-warming smile that matched the heat of the day.

"You forgot that in our lives, we can fall in love."


	10. May 10th, 2014

May 10th, 2014 - Game Over

**AUTHOR:** seecarrun

**May 10th, 2014 - Game Over**

"OH MY GOD, ENGLAND, STOP."

"I told you, I haven't an idea what I'm doing!"

America grit his teeth, and cried in frustration as his character was once again thrown from the map. "DUDE!"

"I told you, I don't know how I'm doing this!" England scoffed, shrugging. "I'm just pressing the buttons and hoping for the best."

"Awesome," America growled sarcastically as his character re-spawned. "You're beating me with fucking button smashing. That makes it even worse."

England rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't be such a colony."

"I'm not being a colony!" he exclaimed, directing a well-aimed attack at England's character, sending him flying off screen. "It's 'cause you're unpredictable is all," he spat. "Nothing is harder than trying to play against someone you can't predict."

England smirked, re-spawning and successfully knocking America off the platform with a perfectly timed kick. "Save for someone who knows what they're doing, of course." He chuckled. "Though it hasn't seemed to be much of an issue for me."

"Seriously, old man, I'm gonna kick your ass so hard…"

"By all means! I've been waiting this whole game, and you have yet to do so!"

"OH MY GOD FUCK OFF, _UGH._"

Losing spectacularly, America dropped the controller on the ground and stomped out of the room, ignoring England as he followed behind him spouting constant, annoyingly sarcastic questions like "Is that it? Is it over? Does that mean I win?" in favor of a nice, strong drink.

A nice, strong, _very large_ drink.


	11. May 11th, 2014

May 11th, 2014 - Mother's Day

**AUTHOR: **hannaadi88

**May 11th, 2014 - Mother's Day**

"She isn't going to answer you, you know."

Alfred looked up from the postcard he had been filling out. He'd gotten it from the prison commissary earlier that day along with a postage stamp and had planned to spend most of his day carefully wording out his message. He didn't write often as his funds were low but whenever he could, Alfred would take his time creating as succinct a note as he could, easily dragging on the writing process for a whole day. He liked to savor every moment he could with his only real connection with the outside world.

He knew that Arthur, his inmate, didn't like to see him dedicate so much time to what he considered a futile attempt. Alfred met his eyes with a small smile, noticing that the man hadn't moved since the last time they'd spoken perhaps ten minutes ago. He was still leaning against the wall in what Alfred had come to consider his natural pose with a cigarette in his hand and his body tilting ever so slightly in Alfred's direction.

For all of Arthur's disapproving words, Alfred knew that if he ever needed a loan to buy a new pencil or an extra card his inmate would hand the sum over without comment. He tended to push people away with his impatient frowns and sarcastic wit, but Alfred had figured the man out within a week of first meeting the Brit—he was a softie at heart. A stubborn one.

Realizing that he wasn't going to get another word written in the near future with Arthur looking at him like that, Alfred sighed and set the card and the pencil he'd been using down on the cot beside him. "Y'never know, Arthur. Maybe this'll be my lucky break."

Arthur snorted without the usual flicker of amusement he reserved for their conversations. "Not very bloody likely and you know it. I highly doubt she even reads a word you write to her. Hell, she probably throws it away the moment she sees it's from her disappointment of a son who got himself in jail."

Alfred flinched despite himself. He figured that Arthur didn't say any of this to intentionally hurt him, but his words stung anyway. "She's my mother. I know she reads it. I may have let her down, but she still loves me."

Maybe it was the forced cheerful tone of his voice or perhaps the false smile that followed. Whatever it was, it made Arthur pause. Alfred watched as the man pushed himself away from the wall and walked over, crouching on the ground in front of him. He never did let go of his cigarette but his free hand reached out and cupped Alfred's chin tenderly, green eyes meeting blue with undiluted concern.

"Of course, love. I'm sorry. I just hate seeing you getting your hopes dashed whenever they hand out the mail and there's nothing for you. I don't like seeing you get hurt time and time again without being able to do anything about it."

Alfred looked away. "You still think I'm stupid for trying though, don't you? You think I'm wasting my time."

"Look at me," Arthur insisted, tugging at Alfred's chin and forcing him to meet his gaze once more. "You're right—I do think you're wasting your time. However, I by no means think any less of you for trying. You're a wonderful, caring man, Alfred Jones, and I love you for it."

Arthur didn't voice his emotions very often and when he did, Alfred knew that it didn't come easily to him. If he were to compare himself to his inmate, Alfred had extremely loose lips when it came to verbalizing his affection. To hear Arthur compliment him so was a rare treat, which Alfred had come to appreciate appropriately.

Despite himself, Alfred smiled. He couldn't stay sullen for the life of him. He reached his hand out as well, caressing Arthur's cheek with his fingertips. "Enough to let me finish my doomed postcard without you grumbling in the corner?"

It was obvious that Arthur had been expecting something else. His brows shot up his forehead in surprise, and soon enough came his trademarked frown. Quickly, he let his hand drop and pulled away petulantly. Alfred couldn't help but laugh.

"Just kidding. Come here and kiss me, old man."

Without further ado, Alfred leaned forward and held Arthur's face in his hands, holding him in place as he pressed their lips together. Soon enough, Arthur was pressing back in what proved to be a smoky and somewhat sweet kiss.

He may have been renounced by his own mother, but at least Alfred knew that he was loved.


	12. May 12th, 2014

May 12th, 2014 - A Day in the Life of Arthur the Mage

**AUTHOR:** towerofart

**May 12th, 2014 - A Day in the Life of Arthur the Mage**

It was days like these where Arthur really wished he'd picked a different profession. In fact, that wasn't a half bad idea. Maybe he'd take an early retirement as a travelling guard and move to the city.

"Artie, I swear, the canyon came out of NO WHERE. I was walking along when suddenly there wasn't any ground under me at all! It was like magic! Not your kind of magic with the summoning things and animating stuff. I mean like _bad_ magic!"

Arthur sighed and stood up from his crouched position, thinking about how much a tailor might get paid. He stood next to the supposedly bewitched canyon. Though, calling the crack in the ground that Alfred had tumbled down a canyon was rather exaggerating its grander. An overgrown hole would have been more descriptive.

"So if you could just, like, summon a snake-thing or something that I could climb?"

Maybe an inn keeper would be a better idea.

Arthur leaned out over the edge of the overgrown hole. "Give me a second to figure out a solution more humane than summiting a poor serpent to such a task."

What was he thinking? An inn keeper would be a terrible idea. He'd drink himself out of house and home before the end of the season, and Alfred—who would undoubtedly tag along—would eat all of their food supplies within the week.

"Are you calling me fat, Artie? I thought we went over this already. This cloak adds, like, twenty pounds!" Alfred protested, spreading the offending garment and then dropping it.

The mage didn't answer. Instead he took a moment to take in their surroundings and see what he had to work with. There wasn't much. They had been travelling across a large valley somewhere in the North. All that could be seen were the mountains in the far distance and sagebrush in every direction for miles.

Maybe he could be a dog master for some lord. Dogs weren't half bad as far as companions went. Surely it would pay well.

"Hold on just a tick, love. I'm going to see how far this thing goes." Arthur kicked a pebble into the steep gully and started off east, away from the setting sun.

Apparently Alfred thought he had teleportation powers, because he felt the need to shout at the top of his lungs. "Not like I could do much else!"

It wasn't long before Arthur realised that the gully went on for some time and only got even deeper in that direction. He turned and started walking back toward Alfred. It wouldn't be long now before the sun set, and at this point if he found a way down to where the other blond was it would be best to set up camp and spend the night here.

Owning a merchant shop would be kind of nice. Maybe he could sell clocks and jewellery from far off places. The market was a bit competitive, but with a little effort he'd be able to settle down quite nicely. Surely Alfred would get bored of it all and move on to pester someone else. Of course, Arthur new he'd never let that happen. Despite his many faults, Alfred had become not just his travelling partner but a friend, and even more than that. The thought brought a smile to his face.

Upon hearing his faithful mage's return, Alfred started up a furry of questions. "Hey Artie, you're back! Did you find anything? Can you get me out? Mind being quick about it, I'm _starving__!_"

Sometimes his faults were a tad more noticeable than others.

Arthur leaned over the verge of the ravine again. "No. Are you sure there isn't anything down there that we could use to get you out? A convenient length of rope perhaps?"

Alfred frowned and kicked a small rock, sending it sailing down the ravine. "Nope. I've double checked my bags and I walked a little ways west while you were gone. Not a thing."

That night they bunkered down with Alfred making a fire down where he was with sagebrush Arthur threw down to him. Al tried numerous times to get the other to make a fire too, but Arthur was paranoid and there was barely a hill until the foot of the mountains. If something was out there in the night, it'd be able to pick them out from miles away.

"Arthur if you aren't going to build a fire than jump down here or something. It's getting cold and you're really cranky when you haven't had any sleep."

It was a really tempting argument, but… "I'd love to join you by the fire down there, but is it really wise for _both_ of us to get stuck down there?"

"Hmm… well I suppose we could just walk in one direction tomorrow. Surely there's a way out within a day's trek. Besides, it's not like we're low on supplies! We have four days to get to the next town that's two days away."

Alfred's argument was starting to look better all the time. Besides, with a whole day to work, Arthur could surely dig up some old earth magic if it came to that. "Alright, I'll come down, but you have to be ready to catch me. I don't fancy twisting an ankle or breaking a bone out here."

"Sure thing, Artie! You can count on me!" Alfred's smile was practically audible.

The two ended up sleeping in a warm huddled mess next to the fire, only drifting off to sleep as the sky started to brighten with sunlight. Maybe not the most comfortable of nights, but one to remember.


	13. May 13th, 2014

May 13th, 2014 - Real Estate

**ARTIST:** deedeex333

**AUTHOR: **saketini

**May 13th, 2014 - ****Real Estate**

"This one has awesome outdoor space, Mr. Kirkland. You'll love it!"

"Ah, yes. Quite."

Arthur nodded his head in vague agreement at his real estate agent's enthusiasm. The man was waving his arms in the direction of the french doors to the backyard, beckoning that he follow him through the apparently _great deal, honestly you'll regret it if you don't put in an offer now!_

"Did you barbecue a lot back home, Mr. Kirkland?"

"In central London?"

"Yeah!"

"No, I did not barbecue in central London."

"Oh."

He could have sworn the man deflated at the idea that someone did not enjoy the thought of cooking over a fire outdoors in the summer heat. Even his lock of hair seemed to wilt in disappointment.

Arthur shuffled and twisted his fingers around the rental car keys in his pocket.

"Ah, well," he quickly amended. "There simply wasn't the room to do so and I was only there for a small while. Plus I knew it was only temporary since I would be transferring to Chicago soon—"

"Great! You can barbecue here then. You totally should."

"Indeed," he nodded again, fascinated by the brightness of the other man's teeth as he grinned.

Arthur had decided at house option number two that he liked his agent's trousers. They were gray, silk, and fitted.

He had also decided at house number two that he was going to put an offer on house one.

"Mr. Jones—"

"'Alfred,' call me Alfred, Mr. Kirkland. I'm here to help!"

"Alfred then…It's lovely but I don't know if I'm keen on the french doors. I know it's silly," he blushed at his own behavior, "But I was thinking of maybe seeing another today?"

"Of course, Mr. Kirkland!"

They really were nice trousers.

"It might be a longer drive, but is there anything you could take me to on the other side of town?"


	14. May 14th, 2014

May 14th, 2014 - This Is Just To Say

**AUTHOR:** dragons-dumpling

**May 14th, 2014 - This Is Just To Say  
**

It was a Saturday and on most Saturdays, people would sleep in and wake up hours later than they usually do. Arthur was no exception. Yawning, the Brit stretched as he sat up and looked to his left. Not a trace of his American lover who had lain there last night. He sighed, shimmied off the bed to slip his feet into his (lovely) pair of unicorn slippers and trudged to the bathroom to start the day.

—

Arthur rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he walked out of the bathroom and down the hallway to the kitchen. The kitchen looked tidy and spotless. This scene was quite unusual for the Englishman for whenever Alfred woke up first, he'd have the kitchen in tatters as he made his own breakfast. Arthur shrugged the thought off as he began to make his breakfast. He loved making fruit tarts so that was what he was making to eat (whether it was a good breakfast food or not he didn't care). So the Brit got out a pre-made tart crust and some ingredients for the custard.

—

After piping the custard into the tart, Arthur took his time wondering what fruits should be topped on the pastry. 'Oh, I had some plums Kiku gave me. I'll use those.' The Briton smiled, crossed the kitchen to the fridge and opened the door. It wasn't there. Instead of the plastic bag of plums, there was a scrap of paper. "This is strange." he murmured as he took the piece of paper and read the message:

'I have eaten  
the plums  
that were in  
the icebox

and which  
you were probably  
saving  
for breakfast

Forgive me  
they were delicious  
so sweet  
and so cold

-Alfred :) '

'Is this Alfred's doing?' Arthur pondered and sighed, shaking his head with a smile at Alfred's attempts to woo him even more than he already did. He grabbed a magnet off the fridge and positioned the poem on the appliance before replacing the magnet on the scrap of paper and continued with his breakfast. Making sure to grab some blueberries and a banana, the Briton closed the fridge door and resumed preparing the tart. If Alfred is stepping up his A-game, he should've chosen better than William Carlos Williams.

_[ In case anyone was wondering, the poem is This Is Just To Say by William Carlos Williams ]_


	15. May 15th, 2014

May 15th, 2014

**AUTHOR:** jojoandpicnic97

**May 15th, 2014**

Gifts that allowed you to give other people Gifts were rare. Francis had that Gift and he thoroughly enjoyed it. He would grant people a Gift, usually dealing with love, and they would thank him with all the kindness in their hearts. Unless, of course, this person's name is Arthur Kirkland (Gifted with short-temperment and his family's large eyebrows – curses, really). Then again, Francis hadn't expected Arthur to thank him after he Gifted him with unruly, horribly messy hair. But that's what he got for dying Francis' beautiful tresses blue!

Still, after years and years of trying to develop a semi-friendly relationship, they did. To celebrate Arthur calling him his friend for the first time, Francis granted his emotionally constipated friend with the Gift of true love. Francis had promised Arthur that he would find his soulmate and Arthur had been too stunned to say anything for a long while.

They had both been fifteen then. Now, at the nice age of twenty-five, Arthur's temperment was wearing thin once more.

"Stop setting me up on dates!"

"I'm only trying to help, _mon ami._"

"Well, stop trying to help, then!"

"Arthur, I-"

"You know what you Gifted me with, it'll happen, you can't take it back, but it's not like you can speed it up either. I'm fine, Francis, I can wait."

The Frenchman's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Oh, really," he purred. "Even with your-"

"Don't say it, frog."

Francis relented and let his friend march out of their shared flat to cool off. And then, later in the day when his friend Antonio (Gifted romanticism and the family trait of sexy curly hair) let him go after sharing all of his relationship woes via text, Francis realized Arthur had yet to return. He had been gone for _hours_. The fight had not been particularly bad – they had had worse – and yet Francis had yet to hear the door open and the kettle be put on the stove.

And then, Francis _did_ hear the door open and the kettle be put on. He walked the few short feet to the kitchen to witness a truly surprising scene. Arthur was standing before the stove, staring down at the (empty) kettle sitting on the turned on stove (but there was nothing boiling; how does one forget water?), with a large, dopey, out-of-character smile spread out upon his face (even though he had forgotten to put water in the kettle and it would never go off and he would never get his tea).

Francis walked closer and his friend didn't even move. Standing a few inches away, Francis put a hand out to wave in front of Arthur's face. "Hello? Anyone home?"

The dopey part of the smile dropped and Arthur snatched the hand away from his face. "Quiet, I'm in a good mood."

"Any reason for that?" he asked gingerly; Francis really didn't want to set off Arthur's Gift. Especially when he was in such a good mood.

Arthur's cheeks brightened with blood and dopey part of the smile came back. He relayed a tale about bumping into a humanoid ray of sunshine and how this ray of sunshine had the Gift of making anyone and everyone smile and how just glancing at Alfred's – Francis assumed this was the name of aforementioned sunshine – own bright and beauteous smile made even a rock smile back at him. Arthur went on to explain how he had helped Alfred find his brother who had disappeared – literally as he had been Gifted with invisibility – because the two had had a quarrel and how Alfred had flirted with Arthur the whole time. He had also asked the Briton out on a date.

By the end, Francis was fighting back a dopey smile of his own. He left Arthur standing at the (now turned off) stove with the empty kettle on it, loving his Gift. Arthur may not have put two and two together, but Francis knew that his friend would be smiling every day for the rest of his life from now on.


	16. May 16th, 2014

May 16th, 2014 - Hero's Guardian

**ARTIST:** stephyhime

**AUTHOR: **justa-fangirl

**May 16th, 2014 - Hero's Guardian**

Once, when Alfred was two years old, he fell from a third floor balcony and survived.

Then when he was six, he was climbing a tree and fell head-first to the ground. He walked away without a scratch.

Two years later, Alfred dashed out into the road to save his friend from being hit by a car. He pushed his friend out of harm's way, and the car hit him instead.

But he was fine. As if it had never happened.

No doctor could explain it, so Alfred's parents worried that their son wouldn't understand the danger he was in sometimes. They lectured him constantly, and kept a close eye on their bold son, trying to help him stay out of trouble.

But it only took one second for them to look away and disaster to strike.

It was after a terrible storm hit their town. Alfred, who was ten now, had gone to see how the gentle river near their house had turned into a raging torrent. As he watched the debris being swept away by the current, his heart stopped in fear when he noticed a little bundle of wet fur. It was a dog, snagged on a branch that was stuck near the riverbank.

Alfred was a good swimmer – he'd won many races in classes at the local pool. So he didn't even bother calling for help before he leapt into the river to save the dog.

And that was the day Alfred drowned.

Yet somehow, he survived that, too.

This time, though, when he woke up in the hospital he wasn't the same loud, lively boy he had been before. Drowning had been very different to falling out of a tree or being hit by a car. He remembered feeling helpless, being pulled under the water and struggling for air, wondering what would happen to that poor lost puppy he hadn't managed to save…

Alfred knew he was lucky to be alive, but this time he understood the horror of what he'd been through.

He was quieter after that. Alfred went through junior high talking more to therapists than his peers, and the only thing he really enjoyed were comic books.

That was probably how he got the idea. By the time he'd started his freshman year of college he'd started to wonder…maybe he had powers!

He became obsessed with the idea. He wouldn't be able to get on with his life until he just tried it out. As soon as he saw the right opportunity to test his theory, he knew he would have to take it.

So one day, when he was walking home from work and saw a building on fire, he didn't even think about the danger. A little boy was screaming for help from an upper window, and Alfred dove straight in.

By the time he reached the fifth floor, he was choking so badly he could hardly walk. His chest hurt just from breathing, and his eyes stung painfully. He urged himself on, but an ominous groan overhead made him stop and look up. He stood, frozen, as the ceiling above gave in and plaster and wood cascaded down.

"Alfred! Get back!"

Two hands pushed him hard against wall, and Alfred witnessed in shock as a man appeared before him, a pair of white, feather wings whipping out behind him to blast away the falling rubble. The word 'angel' burst instantly into his mind, but it just couldn't be possible!

"Who…" Alfred croaked out, before crumpling in on himself with hacking coughs.

The strange man lifted Alfred's head with a gentle touch of his hands.

"Sorry about this," he said, and Alfred didn't have time to wonder what he meant before the man was leaning in and pressing their lips together.

Alfred's eyes widened in surprise, but that soon flicked to confusion as he felt all the smoke emptying from his lungs.

He stared at the man in amazement as he pulled away, a sheepish smile on his face. Alfred could feel himself blushing, even above the heat of the burning building.

"Wh-who are you?" he stammered again.

"I'm Arthur. Your Guardian Angel," the winged-man said. His smile darkened quickly into a frown – an imposing sight with such thick, dark eyebrows. "And I'm only showing myself to you now because I know exactly what's been going on in that head of yours!" the angel accused. "I can't read minds, but I've seen the way you get when you read those comics. You think you have powers or something, and I know you've been dying to test your theory. Well, let me tell you right now: don't be an idiot!"

He shouted the last part so vehemently that Alfred actually cowered back against the wall. He opened his mouth to defend himself, eyes dark and heart bristling angrily, when he realised there were tears in Arthur's eyes.

"You're not immortal, Alfred, you're a normal human being, and you can't be so reckless! I wasn't supposed to save you when you fell off that balcony. But I just…I couldn't let you die! And ever since then you've been getting into accidents, and you don't understand what it does to me. I'll save you every time, Alfred, I promise, but please don't put yourself in danger. I just can't take it…"

Arthur wasn't angry. He was worried about him.

The anger melted away inside Alfred's heart, and affection and gratitude flooded into its place. This man – this angel – was the reason he was still alive today. Alfred may know nothing about this strange, impossible person, but he couldn't help but feel Arthur was very precious to him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know. I promise I won't do anything like this again. Just help me find the kid stuck in this building."

"Of course!" Arthur nodded. "I have to…um, disappear. But I'll be right here protecting you the whole time. I'm always here."

Alfred found his heart twisting painfully, wondering whether he'd ever see Arthur again. Arthur, too, looked strangely reluctant to go. Maybe he liked being seen, for the very first time.

"Hey…" said Alfred, touching Arthur's arm before he could disappear. "Can we see each other again?"

Arthur flinched, looking uncertain and worried. Maybe this was supposed to be a onetime thing. So Alfred offered a wry grin, and squeezed Arthur's arm. "If we don't, I'll keep throwing myself into danger so you have to keep coming to lecture me like this."

Arthur blinked in surprise, and then a delighted smile lit up his face, as bright as the halo hovering over his head.

"I suppose it can't be helped then," he smiled. "See you later, hero."


	17. May 17th, 2014

May 17th, 2014 - Tonight

**AUTHOR:** maplerosekisses

**May 17th, 2014 - Tonight**

Alfred eased to a stop at the red light, letting his head tip back slightly against the headrest and looking at his waiter's apron in the passenger seat. This was the most he'd made in tips since he started this job, and with the way they were scrimping and scraping by, that cash should really go to groceries so more of the paychecks could go to rent and bills, but… they could spare a little.

He folded the apron carefully so nothing would fall out and slipped it under his jacket before he made his way up the stairs to his apartment. When he pushed through the door, he found Arthur predictably sitting on the couch, a now-empty plate of leftovers on the coffee table, typing away at his computer. Alfred leaned against the door for a moment, just watching him, a small, affectionate smile on his face.

"Hey," he called softly. Arthur looked up and smiled, tilting his head up to meet Alfred for a kiss.

"There you are," he murmured, pecking his lips again before Alfred straightened up. "I was starting to wonder if I misunderstood when you'd be home. Did you eat at work or do you want me to heat up the last of the spaghetti for you?" Alfred waved him off.

"Nah, I ate. And I have news." He pulled the apron from his jacket "So the Central High School girls' softball team won the district championship tonight." Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, confused.

"That's…wonderful, I suppose… Do we know someone on the team?"

Alfred grinned. "No, but they all had to go celebrate, right? With all of their families. In one place. And guess who got most of their tables." He shook the apron a little and there was a jingling of change.

Arthur's eyes widened. "How much is it?"

Alfred grinned at him. "A lot. Come on, let's go out."

"Out?"

"Yes, out." Alfred smiled, but it was tinged with all the stress of the past few months, both of them working too much and too hard, just trying to scrape by until Arthur finished his degree and could get a better job than the bookstore where he'd spent the last three years. His pleading tone was just short of desperate. "We haven't done anything for ourselves in God knows how long, and we have a little cash to burn, so lets put half of it away and go have some fun with the rest. What do you say?"

Arthur hesitated, but Alfred was right. It had been so long since they had done anything just for them, and it sounded so good right now. They could worry about the consequences later. He smiled and slipped his hand into Alfred's.

"All right. Let's go."


	18. May 18th, 2014

May 18th, 2014

**AUTHOR:** animeXalchemist

**May 18th, 2014**

Oh god, why had he agreed to this? Why had he allowed himself to be dragged to the very depths of Hell? And calling it Hell really wasn't an exaggeration, because it was hot enough to be Hell and the noise issuing forth from giant speakers sounded unholy and demonic. Bodies writhed against each other, pressed up and grinding, as if possessed by the unholy racket pulsating around the room.

The only saving grace was the alcohol, and that was probably the reason he had eventually been persuaded to come out clubbing. He really wasn't sure what the appeal of clubbing was: paying excessive amounts of money for a minimum amount of alcohol, getting squashed to death by perfect strangers on the dance floor, all the while some manufactured techno shite blared out deafeningly.

Arthur sighed and moved to get the hell out of there, but against his will found himself sucked into the sweaty bodies jumping up and down to the 'music', if it could even be called that. He somehow managed to claw himself out and to the edge of the dance floor, breathing heavy as he watched gyrating hips and, uh, 'twerking' was it? He had no idea where Gilbert and Francis had disappeared to. They'd probably been sacrificed and lost to the masses.

The Brit sighed and closed his eyes, doing his best to tune out the musical atrocities abusing his ears and purge his eyes of the grotesque dancing displays. For a guy of nineteen, he realised that he was incredibly old fashioned for thinking that. But he couldn't help but imagine that, had this been a century or so ago, then this whole thing would have been extremely different.

Instead of the vulgar dance moves of the modern day, there would be proper dances. Classy dances, like the Waltz and the sort that you could move gracefully to as an orchestra played the most melodious sounds. Instead of males wearing baggy pants that basically fell to their knees and females apparently forgetting the purpose of clothing and showing up virtually naked, there would be smartly pressed and perfectly tailored tuxedos, dresses of the most exotic materials and in every colour one could wish for.

Oh how he longed for that instead of this. He would show up to the 'club', the ball in this case, immaculately dressed. He'd admire the women's dresses and compliment their beauty; he'd exchange pleasantries with the men, and then, just as the night was getting into full swing, everything would stand still.

A young man would enter, grand enough to have a title and be announced by the speaker at the top of the stairs. Women would titter with joy and the men would be envious as the young man made his way down the stairs, an airy confidence surrounding him, a boyish smirk on his lips. He would be… blonde. Yes, golden blonde, for that suggested that he had a more mischievous streak in Arthur's mind for some reason. The eyes? Well, they'd have to be blue. Not just any blue, mind you, but a blue to end all blues. Sparkling with life with the depth of the sea and the promises of an open sky. He would be breath taking, and Arthur wouldn't feel the envy of the men. On the contrary, he'd probably have joined in with the women's excited murmurs had he not been wise enough to know that such things wouldn't be appropriate.

The young man could easily have his pick of dance partner and he'd probably go for that gorgeous brunette in the splendidly frilled purple dress. They'd dance around the room, true fairytale style, and though Arthur may want to dance with the young man he wouldn't mind. He would watch their dance while being a wallflower and drinking only the finest beverages.

And yet… without any warning, the young man would glance up and their eyes would meet and suddenly the gorgeous brunette was lost to those beautiful blue eyes and he was heading over here to ask him to dance. Him, a man- oh how strange yet wonderful!- and he'd be led onto that dance floor and despite the hushed murmurs around them the orchestra was their true music as they twirled around, the young man holding his waist, smiling at him handsomely while Arthur sighed in contentment…

Someone bumping into him jolted Arthur out of his little fantasy and he was back in the noisy club with its dub-step and unclassy patrons. He turned around to most likely flip the person off for crashing into him yet such flipping off never occurred. Was it the strobe lighting making this young man have extremely blue eyes? Was the blonde hair really that golden? Was he… still imagining this? The young man was staring at him as well, eyes gazing into his until, quite suddenly, he reached out and placed a hand on Arthur's hip. How forward! And yet the Brit willingly allowed himself to be pulled further onto the dance floor with this stunning stranger.

It may not have been a romantic Waltz, but at least Arthur got a semi-romantic dance with his dream man. Several dances, actually. In fact, they spent many hours dancing with each other into the early hours of the morning. And who knew, maybe this magical night would lead to courting.

And they'd live happily ever after.

(No but seriously, before that Arthur needed to get this handsome man's number).

(Which, in case you were wondering, was handed over easily along with a kiss).


	19. May 19th, 2014

May 19th, 2014 - 12-Dimensional Chess

**AUTHOR: **Anonymous

**May 19th, 2014 - 12-Dimensional Chess**

Some tech-savvy genius had taken a chessboard and mixed it with a deck of cards, creating a multi-tiered human-scale game that filled the gleaming atrium. Blue Spades, Green Clubs, Gold Diamonds, and Red Hearts fought turn by turn to ensure that their King was the last one standing. A crowd of aliens watched from the top of the dome, drinking Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters and betting on which of the three remaining sides would win. The bookies at the moment favored Clubs, but Hearts wasn't far behind.

Alfred F. Jones, captain of the United Starfleet Starship Independence, grit his teeth from his position on the piece that represented the King of Spades. If he wanted to get off this planet alive (and he very much did), he had to win a multi-dimensional chess game that he barely understood. Even worse, the crew members on his away-mission had been forced to play as various pieces on the Spades side. Jones wasn't sure what would happened if their pieces were knocked off the board, but the screams of the other players as they plummeted into the abyss below was not encouraging.

The only two advantages Jones had at the moment were, one, that Hearts and Clubs saw each other as the greatest threat and, two, he had the level-headed guidance of his second-in-command: Lieutenant Kirkland, a bushy-browed, pointy-eared Vulcan with a penchant for calm logic and quick calculations.

"Captain," his second-in-command murmured, "I see an opening." Kirkland silently relayed the plan with his wrist communicator, showing how they could wipe out the other Kings in only a few moves. But to win, it would require Kirkland to sacrifice his own piece, the Queen of Spades.

"Absolutely not," Jones rejected the plan without a second thought.

"It's the logical choice. A small sacrifice to serve a greater good."

"I said no, Lieutenant."

Kirkland gave him a mild look of disapproval, which was about the strongest emotion the cold-blooded Vulcan ever showed to anyone. Jones knew that Kirkland's tongue was as sharp as his mind, especially when he thought that his captain was doing something particularly stupid. Sometimes Jones wondered if his second-in-command was even capable of other emotions.

Pushing those pointless thoughts out of his head, an idea began to simmer as he examined the alien transmitter that he used to control his pieces on the board. Starfleet had forbidden him from using his top-secret electromagnetic disruption technology without an admiral's approval, but one did not become the youngest captain in Starfleet history by following the rules. Jones had long ago learned that so long as everything turned out okay in the end (meaning, he kept his starship intact and his crew alive), the top brass was willing to look the other way. Of course, if he failed, there would be hell to pay.

He spent the next few moves studying his transmitter in an unobtrusive fashion. To the alien's watching from above, he was simply plotting out his next moves. But Jones was actually hacking his way into the core of the program. Although it was difficult to make his way through the unfamiliar technology, he knew that he could rely on Kirkland to play brilliantly and buy him the time he needed.

Jones felt a buzz of excitement as he finally cracked the code, followed by an immediate panic when he saw the Clubs pieces ganging up on him and the other Spades pieces. Kirkland had drawn their attention to Spades by playing a little too brilliantly.

"Captain, if you have a plan, I suggest you use it," the Vulcan said dryly, looking far too sanguine about their imminent loss.

Jones nodded. During his next move, he slipped a small virus into the game's program. It convinced the program that queens were jacks and jacks were kings, creating mass confusion on the board as the Kings of Hearts and Clubs ordered movement only to find that the pieces were going in completely unexpected directions.

The aliens watching from above grumbled their displeasure, and a small army of robots swarmed the board trying to fix the problem. The captain grinned.

It was a clever little virus; it spread into the robots and then infected the entire atrium, knocking out the shield that was preventing his ship from teleporting them off the planet. Jones used his final turn in the mixed-up game to move himself to the spot next to the King of Clubs. He punched the alien in the face, knocking him off the board just as his chief engineer beamed them off the planet. With a sigh of relief, Jones and the other crewmates safely landed in the starship's teleporter room.

"Lieutenant Honda, get us out of here!" he ordered as soon as his feet touched the teleporter pad. He took the lift to the starship's main control area, with Kirkland following closely behind.

"Captain, that was exceedingly reckless," the Vulcan said as they rose through the belly of the ship. "And you know the admiral banned the use of EMD technology."

"Well, it worked, didn't it?"

Kirkland gave him an unimpressed look. "This time. You jeopardized the safety of yourself and the crew with your lack of planning."

"Ah, were you worried about me?" Jones teased.

"I was thinking only of the success of the mission." Kirkland spoke calmly, but Jones thought he saw a flicker of genuine concern in the Vulcan's eyes. If it was there at all, it was gone a second later.

The lift doors opened and they each took their positions amidst the lights and activity on the bridge. Jones glanced down at the control panel on the captain's chair and barked out orders to his crew. At the moment he had an official Starfleet mission to complete, but perhaps later he could return to his own personal quest to discover what lay beneath the prickly exterior of his mysterious second-in-command.


	20. May 20th, 2014

May 20th, 2014 - The Reluctant Zookeeper

**AUTHOR:** justa-fangirl

**May 20th, 2014 -** **The Reluctant Zookeeper**

Children were not the only ones evacuated from London during the Second World War. The inhabitants of Epping Zoo needed protection, too.

They couldn't very well keep a menagerie of rare and semi-dangerous animals in London during the Blitz. The animals could be killed (a devastating blow to national morale, apart from being a tragedy in itself), or the zoo buildings might be damaged and a hoard of wild beasts would be set loose upon the city. The people of London already had enough problems without the added worry of frightened, lost lions rampaging about the rubble.

Arthur Kirkland couldn't decide if he were _lucky_ to be able to help, or whether the zoo's curator had tricked him into the messiest decision of his life. He'd made generous donations to the zoo ever since he became a successful writer, but opening up his estate in Yorkshire to house animals and zookeepers for an indefinite period of time was entirely different. He'd almost thought about turning them down.

But the poor animals' safety was more important than his own desire for privacy. And since he couldn't fight with his lame leg, this was the least he could do for his country.

Besides, it wasn't the animals Arthur was worried about – it was the people. Along with the zoo creatures there would have to come people to look after them. The kind of people who had enough boisterous energy to work with monkeys and lions. _Not_ Arthur's sort of people at all.

Sure enough, once the enclosures had all been built on his Yorkshire estate, and the animals were moved in, a cacophony of zookeepers arrived, and proved far more trouble than the beasts themselves. The whole lot of them moved into his manor house and promptly began acting as if they owned the place. Arthur actually took to hiding out around the zoo enclosures to get some peace and quiet.

Of course it wasn't long before he was interrupted there, too.

"Mr. Kirkland! Fancy seeing you here!"

Arthur spared a glance over his shoulder and saw Alfred, a young American zookeeper, heading towards him with a bucket under one arm.

"You like the ring-tailed lemurs? These fellas are _my_ responsibility," he said proudly, puffing out his chest.

"Yes, I'm aware," replied Arthur, coolly. "What with the way you prattle on about them at the dinner table."

Alfred ignored the snarky comment (well used to his landlord's antisocial ways by now) and opened the door into the lemur enclosure. But something made the boy pause, halfway through the doorway, and slowly he turned to look at Arthur. "Hey…I don't suppose you want to come help me feed them? You've been really great letting us all come and invade your home, you should at least get to play with the animals as a thank you."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure that's appropriate? They're not really toys are they."

Alfred smiled. "Come on, lemurs are fun! I wouldn't let you go jump in with the bears or nothin', but these guys are a real treat."

Arthur didn't take much convincing – he adored the playful ring-tailed lemurs, and had been hoping somebody would offer him a chance to get close like this. So he joined Alfred in the lemurs' enclosure, holding out fruit and delighting in the way the lemurs' little human-like hands took the food gently from his fingers. Alfred smiled to see the dour Englishman light up like this, and when Arthur turned towards him, positively beaming, Alfred decided that Mr. Kirkland really wasn't as scary as he seemed.

Feeding the lemurs with Alfred quickly became a daily ritual, and from there the American introduced Arthur to more of the zoo's inhabitants (both animal and human). The boy's enthusiasm and friendliness even proved to be slightly infectious, for Arthur was soon opening up, and found himself settling into his new, wild life rather than fighting it.

It was odd. They were such different creatures, he and Alfred, but somehow they got along like it was natural. Perhaps Arthur had changed, or perhaps Alfred was just special, but either way, they grew closer than Arthur had ever felt towards another human being. And Arthur found it surprisingly wonderful.

Even as Alfred inched frighteningly closer into his heart.

"Hey, Arthur? I'm sorry if this is rude, but…I was wondering about your leg?"

Arthur looked up at Alfred over the vegetables they were chopping for the lemurs' lunch.

It wasn't really an unexpected question – Alfred was a curious boy, after all. What surprised Arthur was that he didn't mind being asked something so personal. Not by Alfred.

"Yes, I'm afraid it's kept me out of the war. I…got hurt in the last one. I'd only been there five minutes it seemed before I was sent right back home with a mangled leg. Suppose I wasn't a very good soldier."

"I'm sure that's not true," Alfred insisted immediately. "But…how old were you? I mean…if you don't mind my asking?" he added apologetically.

"I lied to get enlisted," Arthur explained. "Said I was nineteen, though I was only sixteen at the time."

"Wow! Only a year younger than me!" Alfred exclaimed, looking genuinely awestruck. "I can't imagine being in a war that young. Dad says I have to wait till I'm eighteen to enlist. You must have been really brave!"

"I was just angry by that point," Arthur said, waving off the praise. "I'm sure I looked far too young, but it was 1918 and they were desperate at that point."

"So…" Arthur watched as Alfred did some very obvious mental calculations. "You're thirty-eight?"

Arthur nodded, and couldn't help the grin that twitched at the corner of his mouth as Alfred blushed and look away busily.

"Younger than I thought," was all Alfred said.

Arthur said nothing, just happy in the knowledge that he was inching his way further into Alfred's heart, too.


	21. May 21st, 2014

May 21st, 2014 - Strength

**AUTHOR: **faesphinx

**May 21st, 2014 - Strength**

"T'cha, right". For all his bulk and broad shoulders, and lifting bison when he was just a little thing, Arthur could still give him a good fight.

To be fair, they probably did look imbalanced. Alfred knew that he looked like a young college football star, and Arthur was… Arthur. He was so lean, and his large eyes gave him a sort of childlike-look. But those green eyes irises could narrow down into dangerous cat's eyes, and his soft sweater vests concealed hard, wiry muscle and tendons. Arthur was so demure when he wanted to be, so careful to hide what lay beneath his gentlemanly demeanor (when he wasn't being a total dick, that was). Most people, and even some of the Nations, didn't know how tightly he could grasp something, how quick and clever his slender hands could be.

He was sort of like a snake, Alfred thought. All hidden muscle that could squeeze the life out of you, if it wanted to, and you could never get a proper hold on it, because it would just slip through the gaps you left.

Not only that, but Arthur had a will that even Alfred found hard to fight, sometimes. It was something stronger than iron. Iron could go rusty and brittle. Arthur was more like titanium. Something that strong took so much to wear down, it usually wasn't worth it. Alfred knew that better than almost anyone. It was something so basic and plain, but worth so much more than iron.

Alfred was addicted. He couldn't get enough of Arthur's arms, his thin chest, his fingers. He loved laying on the couch with him, just cuddling, and coveting each hidden muscle, and the power that lay in each one. There was just something about it that seemed to take the burden of being 'the strong one' and made it easier to handle. He didn't always have to be strong, not for Arthur, at least. Arthur could take care of himself, and had for centuries before Alfred had even been on a map.

Sometimes Alfred wondered what that was like- he knew the gist of Arthur's history, after all. The invasions, the wars- both civil and foreign- the come-and-go of kings and queens, the plagues, the fires, the famines, with almost no one to rely on. Arthur said he remembered Rome; Alfred wondered if he remembered what was before that, but Arthur would never say.

And yet, he was still here. Even after the rise and fall of his empire, after the struggle and tragedy of the years, Arthur was still here. Still rising above it, only made tougher by the trials. Still with that pride, that strong jaw. Alfred hoped that he could do that as well, but didn't dare tell Arthur. He'd fought so hard for Arthur to see him as a responsible, capable adult- how could he just sudden come up with "Someday, Arthur, I want to be just like you!" without causing bittersweet memories to flare up, or Arthur thinking that he was still too young to be a nation?

Not that he'd try to reclaim him, Alfred knew. He was beyond that particular worry. But the anxiety still remained that Arthur, for all that he had come to understand Alfred, would lose his respect for him. It would be such a relationship-changer, for Arthur to see him as someone who needed to be guided through everything and have his hand held, that Alfred wasn't sure they'd be able to maintain their Special Relationship. So he'd just have to learn to be as strong as Arthur, and then, maybe, one day, he could tell him in retrospect that he had always striven to be like the island nation.

But between now and then, he would still relish Arthur and his muscles, his fortitude. He would watch him while he worked in his garden, pulling weeds and digging holes for the new rose bushes he made Alfred haul into the yard. They would wrestle, sometimes, and Alfred would crow when he won and sigh happily to himself when he lost. He would grab Arthur and throw him over his shoulder to go get ice cream, and Arthur would push him up against the wall in a broom closet between meetings to kiss Alfred senseless. And Alfred would soak up every minute of it, linking his large, work-calloused hands with Arthur's, and giving the thin fingers a quick squeeze- which would be returned with equal strength.


	22. May 22nd, 2014

May 22nd, 2014 - Monsters In My Head

**AUTHOR:** supershinywords

**May 22nd, 2014 - Monsters In My Head**

_1654_

The wood of the house walls was raw compared to the wood of England's home, smelling of the forest and varnish in equal amounts even as the gaslight stretched shadows along the cracks of the walls and created a deep well of darkness under the cabinet beside the desk where England was working on the write-up of his dust-up with the Netherlands for the new Lord Protector.

He was describing the Battle of Portland when his study door slammed open. Pushing himself back from his desk, England's brow furrowed with the start of anger. "America! What have I told you about run – "

"I'm sorry, England!" America shouted, barely slowing as he barreled around the desk despite England's temper. "Don't let the ghosts get me!"

"Ghosts?" England asked, breath forced out of him as America jumped into his lap at full speed and wrapped tiny arms and legs around him so tightly he could feel the embroidery from the front of America's bedshirt through his own clothing. "What on earth – America, are you crying?"

"No!" America shouted, voice muffled where he'd pressed his face into England's side. His shoulders shook faintly under the white linen of his bedshirt. Each small heave drove the rising irritation away, displacing it with a wave of bemused tenderness to which England was helpless.

"Ah, of course… It was time for a break anyway," he murmured, wrapping one arm around America's shoulders while he rubbed his back gently with the other. "There now, it's fine. I'm here. Let's just sit together for a bit. Did you have a bad dream about…ghosts, was it? Where did you hear something like that?"

After a moment where all England could hear was the gentle creak of the house settling and the occasional muffled sniff, America's tight grip around his neck loosened and he leaned back. England was finally able to see his face, flushed and tear-damp with his eyes gone red and blurry from fright and what looked like anger. "Spain told me about the g-g-ghosts in New Orleans…"

England's eyes narrowed. "Spain told you that, did he." _I should never have let that tomato-loving bastard anywhere near America!_

"Uh huh." America lifted one of his hands from England's shoulders to rub away the tear tracks over his cheeks, face still flushed red from his tears and embarrassment. "He said they couldn't stay asleep because of the all the groundwater… Is it _my_ fault? Are they going to leave me? All I'll have left are the ghosts! I don't _want_ ghosts in me!"

"Oh, dear heart, no. _No,_" England murmured, tugging America closer once more and tucking him under his chin. "I can't answer for France, but I'm not going anywhere. The English settlements here love you. And ghosts take a lot more than simple flooding to rise, so don't worry about that, all right?"

America sniffled wetly again, but willingly tucked his head back into England and nodded against his shoulder. England continued stroking America's back and after a moment, began to tell him about the life of Henry VII. He'd barely gotten past the young hopeful's convoluted and somewhat frowned upon claim to the throne when the grip around his neck loosened. He pulled back slightly to check and smiled when he saw America's face gone slack in sleep. "I guess you can sleep with me tonight," he whispered. "It's no good if you have more nightmares, hm? Let's go on to bed."

_And I'll figure out a way to make that bastard Spain pay…maybe France will help. They're already fighting, aren't they?_ He'd be willing to side with the frog for the chance to grind dirt into the eyes of the man who'd made his colony cry.

_1982_

England rubbed at his temple, trying to stave off a headache. "America. Not that I'm not thrilled to be spending…so much…time with you during this conference, don't you want to…sleep? It's getting late, after all."

America flinched. He covered it up immediately, of course, and England wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been staring, hoping desperately that the other country would crack and finally leave England's temporary quarters in favor of his own. But he had seen it, and his hand fell from his forehead to his knee, where he braced it to lean toward America, kneeling on the floor in front of the couch where he'd been in the middle of describing his new musical movements (or something, England had stopped listening several minutes in). "America?"

America laughed loudly and stood with a shrug. "I guess you're right! Heroes need plenty of sleep and I guess old guys like you need a lot of sleep too, right?"

England could see misdirection even when it wasn't so blatant and he stood. "Yes, yes, very droll. I'm sensing you had another purpose here tonight other than to educate me on your burgeoning popular…culture."

"I don't know what you mean…?"

England arched a brow and observed America for a long minute, categorizing his behavior over the day and checking it against what he knew of the nation. "Really. So you haven't been tense and hyper since you barged in after dinner?"

America's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed even though his voice was steady. "No way, dude. I think you're seeing things again."

"I see." England crossed his room to his door and opened it. "In that case, have a wonderful night and I'm sure I'll find you well rested tomorrow morning, then."

America seemed to teeter on a precipice for a long minute before he looked at England with wide eyes and whispered, "This place isn't built on a cemetery, right?"

England blinked. "I'm sorry? A…cemetery?" America nodded quickly, eyes wide behind his glasses. "How should I know? Why don't you just ask – America. Are you crying."

"No!" America said, forcing a thick laugh as he quickly turned and began scrubbing. "I've just got dust in my eyes!"

"America…were you watching scary movies again?"

America turned watery blue eyes on him and England realized no matter how he fought it, he knew exactly how this night would go.


	23. May 23rd, 2014

May 23rd, 2014 - Alfredesque

**AUTHOR:** yao-braginski

**May 23rd, 2014 - Alfredesque**

"You can do this, just be cool," Alfred reassured his reflection. "It's just Arthur."

The back of his throat was waxy and his stomach like it was bubbling. He couldn't fathom a previous time in his life where he'd been this nervous. Alfred got nervous, of course, but he wasn't predisposed to anxiousness. Especially to the point of feeling queasy_. _

_It's only natural, _his brother had said.

The American regarded his reflection once more. His pupils were wildly dilated and his shoulders were taut and corded from gripping the rim of the sink but his uneasiness wasn't too obvious. Regardless, Arthur knew Alfred's tells and tics better than anyone and he would know something was up instantly.

"Get it together or you're gonna give the game away."

Alfred had been so busy, well, _busying _himself that he hadn't actually thought about the enormity of what he was about to do. Now that he'd finished double-triple-quadruple checking that everything would go according to plan, he was left only with the reality of it.

By no means was he reconsidering or doubting himself, Alfred was irrevocably certain of his decision and the happiness that would accompany it.

But what if Arthur said no?

He desperately wanted Arthur to be his fiancé, his groom and, in turn, his husband. This desire had always been stored in the crooks of Alfred's mind, ever since he and Arthur had first started dating and Alfred thought 'I'm going to marry this guy one day'.

Then, about six months ago, Alfred had found himself window-shopping in the ring section of a jewellers' and knew the time had come.

Alfred told Mattie first. Not so much told as blurted out 'Can you help me find an engagement ring for Arthur?' around a mouthful of barbequed pork chop.

The ring sat in its small, pillowed box next to a bottle of pale yellow cologne. The white-gold circlet was undecorated and thin. It was the one. Alfred could envision it on Arthur's finger; he could see Arthur unconsciously twisting it when he was lost in thought.

Planning how the evening would go had been a long, meticulous process but everything had eventually slotted into place. Arthur was a temperamental being and wouldn't appreciate a showy evening of clichés and grand gestures. Between the joint efforts of his family, Alfred had orchestrated the evening so it would pan out harmoniously and memorably.

With a skittish exhale, Alfred attempted to breathe out his apprehension.

"Will you marry me, Arthur?"

_That was it, that's all he had to do. One question. It was so easy._

"But what if he says no…"

"He won't say no."

Alfred jolted. His heart lurched to the front of his rib cage like it had become too heavy for his body.

From the mirror's eye, Alfred spotted his boyfriend standing in the centre of the doorway. He was dressed impeccably. He looked amazing.

"I won't say no," the Englishman repeated. There was something about his voice, something different.

Alfred groaned and let his head drop. "Did you… did you hear everything?"

"Yes, I heard everything, you idiot, you were supposed to be ready ten minutes ago so I came looking for you," Arthur informed him, slowly venturing further into the small, downstairs bathroom.

"Oh my god, I've ruined it, I've completely ruined everything. I _am _an idiot, I can't believe –"

"Alfred." A finger pressed against Alfred's lips and Arthur's lovely face filled his line of vision. Alfred realised now what was so different about Arthur's voice. He was overcome with emotion. Arthur had a reputation for having a bit of a temper and letting his anger get the better of him but it was incredibly rare for Arthur to become emotional in a way that would betray his vulnerability. In that moment, in front of Alfred, though, his eyes were glazed with tears and his lips were touched by bliss.

"_Yes," _Arthur whispered into Alfred's ear, his voice cracked around that one word and Alfred it was taking all of Arthur's strength not to cry.

"What?"

"Yes, Alfred."

"Yes?" Alfred breathed, stunned into stupidity. "You… you will? Marry me? You'll marry me? Really? Even though I'm an idiot?"

"Yes, even though you're an idiot." Arthur was nodding and sniffling and smiling. "Yes, my idiot."

Alfred's entire body lightened with the sweetness of that word and his kissed Arthur through both of their smiles. The Englishman returned kisses over and over with a 'yes' on his lips. Alfred urged Arthur to wrap his legs around Alfred's waist and laughed underneath the onslaught of Arthur's affection.

-/-

They decided to pretend the bathroom incident had never happened and they weren't, in fact, already engaged. The evening went exactly as planned; Alfred proposed on one knee, Arthur was taken aback but said yes, again, and everyone celebrated late into the night.

Alfred couldn't quite believe they'd gotten away with it and was about to give himself a pat on the back for recovering so well from such an Alfredesque mess-up.

That was until Mattie found him, wearing an expression of exasperated amusement.

"What did I say about practising in the mirror, Al?"

Alfred grinned in reply. Arthur said yes, that was all that mattered.


	24. May 24th, 2014

May 24th, 2014

**ARTIST:** Kyle

**AUTHOR:** seecarrun

**May 24th, 2014**

England hated staying at America's house, for no other reason than because the young man had more blasted confusing technology than England knew what to do with.

But _like hell_ he was going to admit that, so he just chose to suffer in silence.

"Okay!" America chirped, rushing through the living room and into the kitchen with his coat half on and his hair unkempt. "I've got work until like, one-ish today, since I'm getting off early for the meeting tomorrow, and I'll be home after that," he called, muffled, from the other room.

"That's fine," England replied absently, not bothering to look up from his morning crossword.

Seconds later, the young nation popped back out with a doughnut hanging out of his mouth, hair still a mess, though both arms were now safely inside his jacket. "Fo yof feed me to fow you how to fork the FeeFee?"

England narrowed his eyes, unimpressed. "Please don't speak with your mouth full, America. I have no blasted idea what you just said."

America rolled his (blue, _blue_) eyes (_bloody hell,_ did that tie really make them pop), and reluctantly removed the doughnut. "Do you need me to show you how to work the TV? …Or Netflix…Or the microwave." He pursed his lips. "Is it safe for me to leave you here alone at all?"

"I'll be perfectly fine on my own," England grumbled, crossing his arms. "I've stayed over at your home countless times, and I think I know how to handle your household items."

"That's what I'm afraid of," America said with a cringe, but shrugged it off. "Ah well, worse comes to worse, everything's still on warranty from last time, so whateves." He popped the dounut back in his mouth and waved goodbye with a wink. "Juff fon'f furn fhe face fown!"

"Stop speaking with your bloody mouth full!"

Grinning, America closed the door behind him.

America pulled up to his house at approximately a quarter past one, and sighed in relief. No firetrucks, police cars, or ambulance, and the house was still standing. At least from the outside, all was well.

He unbuckled himself and grabbed his briefcase from the passenger seat, loosening his tie as he contemplated why he put himself through this every time he hosted a meeting.

Sure, he was a little bit in love with England, so having the nation stay with him was an obvious preference, but was the constant worry of finding his house burnt down with England standing over the ashes, arms crossed, bitching about the 'shoddy installation of useless modern appliances' worth it?

He opened the door and held his breath.

"Oh good, you're home. Come and help me with this, would you?"

America blinked. England stood, dripping with sweat but smiling giddily, at the top of the staircase, along with the large vanity dresser from the guest bedroom, which he appeared to be pushing down the hallway.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked carefully.

England wiped his brow with the back of his arm and beamed down at him. "Your flipper wasn't working, I threw it in the rubbish for you, by the way, and I was stuck watching the same programme all day."

America held in his frustration at his perfectly working remote sitting in a garbage can somewhere, and clenched his fist. "What were you watching?"

"_Antiques Roadshow_," he replied with a grin.

_Of course,_ America thought with a groan. _Leave it to the old man to the find the old maniest possible show on TV to spend his day watching._ "And that's why you're trying to push my dresser down the stairs?"

"Precisely. Come and give us a lift, lad."

America shook his head and trotted up the stairs. No use fighting it. Better to lose one dresser than the entire house, after all.

Plus, England's stupid, smiling face made it all too clear.

Yeah.

It was totally worth it.


	25. May 25th, 2014

May 25th, 2014

**AUTHOR:** isap8

**May 25th, 2014**

_May 25th 1961_

"Shush Artie!" Alfred said in a loud whisper as he sat, unblinkingly, and watched the television with excitement. John F. Kennedy had to be one of Alfred's favourite bosses yet, other than George Washington, of course. The man spoke so perfectly, his words captivating and his promises larger than life. And although Arthur would never admit it himself, he rather liked seeing Alfred this excited.

Arthur stepped into the living room and took a seat on the bright orange couch beside Alfred, watching with him as some of the most memorable words on earth were spoken.

"First, I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the Earth. No single space project in this period will be more impressive to mankind, or more important for the long-range exploration of space; and none will be so difficult or expensive to accomplish," the man said through the telly. Alfred simply stared wide eyes, his mouth hanging open like a landed fish as he tried to process the information.

He only had one goal then. _I'm going to the moon._

…:…:…

Arthur had begun to grow worried about Alfred's sudden obsession; his hours spent pouring over books and studying physics with almost childlike excitement. He wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, wouldn't stop for more than two seconds to do anything. His constant companion was the book under his arm, loose sheets of paper shoved randomly between the pages of the monstrous work of nonfiction, each absolutely covered in Alfred's almost illegible scribbling of formula upon formula.

"Alfred, you'll get sick if you keep pushing yourself this way," Arthur said, his brow furrowed in worry. Alfred didn't even look up, his eyes scanning the page before him as he worked rapidly along the page. "You should get some sleep."

"I can sleep when I'm dead, Artie," the younger of the two men said cheerfully, a cup of coffee in his right hand and the pen in his left. Besides, he didn't have time. If he didn't work, they'd develop a spacecraft before he could finish and they would leave without him. He had one chance to get to the moon and by golly he was going to take it.

The American had lived a life with borders he could not cross. He was born into a world with set rules, with specific ideas. To be able to break people's ideas of what could and could not be done, that excited him like nothing else. Finally, he would show the world that he wasn't a child anymore. He would show them how much he could do.

"I'll be in bed if you need me," Arthur said finally with a sigh as he turned around to hide the hint of hurt in his eyes.

The bed was far too cold without his warm American beside him.

…:…:…

Arthur had had enough. It had only been a few months but dammit he was tired of being shoved aside. He woke up that morning frustrated and impatient, marching into the kitchen in his robe and glaring down at the obviously tired but still awake American. "Alfred, for Pete's sake, stop this madness now!"

He was angry. He was angry with Alfred for letting his health and hygiene deteriorate this way. He was angry with his government for putting this mad idea into the boy's hyperactive mind. But it was the way that he was pushed aside that angered Arthur the most, the way that Alfred treated him like nothing as he poured over the books. Arthur wasn't the most important thing in the insufferable boy's world anymore, and he missed the sweet smiles and warm kisses, the cuddling on cold nights and all the culinary mishaps they'd shared. He wanted his Alfred back…

Arthur was nearly fighting back tears as he angrily ripped the physics book from Alfred's hand, hurling it against the wall in a furious fashion before he glared down at the bewildered American. "Stop, Alfred! Dammit, just stop!"

The younger of the two was just watching in shock at the outbreak, unsure of how to react to the fury in his lover's eyes and the tears that were streaming down his cheeks as Arthur snapped. And for the first time in centuries, Alfred saw genuine fear in Arthur's usually calm eyes. "Arthur please…"

"N-No!" Arthur croaked, his voice breaking as the initial fury gave way to the pain he'd been feeling. He hated looking this broken. It was an insult to his past power, to the image he had built up. It was the wall he'd never let come down before, the one thing that had always kept him from getting hurt. "Stop. Stop this…this obsessing! Stop the damn studying and just…just come back. I want you back."

…:..:…

_"I'll pretend that I'm kissing the lips I am missing and hope that my dreams will come true." _ The oh so famous voice of Paul McCartney filled the room as well as Arthur's ear as Alfred whispered them to him. While the American astronaut was not the best singer, Arthur couldn't complain. He was dancing with him, and not caring who watched, with only a week before Alfred's flight. He didn't care about all the whispers, the people who watched them dance with a look of shock and confusion.

_Please come home to me, Alfred._

…:..:…

"Alfred!"

Arthur was almost crying as he ran past the spectators barricade to go greet his boyfriend, pushing his way past the guards as Alfred grinned and held his arms out to the Brit, pulling him into a tight embrace. "I missed you, you bloody yank," he muttered as he held the man in the spacesuit close, feeling dwarfed by him but not caring in the slightest. He was back in his arms and that was all that mattered. His astronaut was back home.


	26. May 26th, 2014

May 26th, 2014 - Memorial Day

**AUTHOR:** jojoandpicnic97

**May 26th, 2014 - Memorial Day**

Alfred was kind of annoyed. He was stuck in a buttload of traffic and Arthur was complaining his ear off. He could understand why both were happening, but he would totally prefer if they weren't because, well, they were damn _annoying_.

He had taken Arthur out for a camping trip for Memorial Day weekend and it was now Memorial Day and, naturally, there was traffic as everybody else was heading home, too. But Alfred had forgotten to take into account that his British boyfriend might become a bit whiny due to bugs, excessive amounts of dirt, and a semi-nasty sunburn. This traffic just added the cherry on the top.

"Why can't these ruddy cars just _move_ already," Arthur complained, slumping to the side and resting his head against the window.

"Maybe there was an accident," the American suggested. Arthur groaned. Alfred rolled his eyes and said, "You know, I don't really mind this all that much." He glanced over at the Brit in the seat next to him who seemed to perk up a bit in surprise at his words. "It just means I get to spend more time with you."

Arthur actually cracked a smile. He looked over at Alfred and said, "The sooner we get home, the sooner we spend _a lot_ more time together."

Now, Alfred was totally one to take up that challenge, but the massive amount of cars proved succeeding quickly impossible.


	27. May 27th, 2014

May 27th, 2014

**AUTHOR: **shinobiqueen

**May 27th, 2014**

Alfred looked at Arthur sitting at his desk, brooding over stacks of paperwork. He came over earlier to ask if England wanted to hang out a bit. But as it turned out, he was buried in work.

So Alfred had just settled down on the small sofa in the study and busied himself with a video game on his handheld, glancing over to England once in a while.

He has been at it for hours now, without a break.

"Still not finished?"

Arthur sighed tiredly.

"No, not even close."

Alfred studied his face. He looked tired, with bags forming under his eyes, and his complexion looked even more pale than usual.

Didn't England get enough sleep?

Now that he thought about it, he hasn't seen him eat anything ever since he came here either.

He was startled from his thoughts when England gave out a groan, holding his head.

"Hey, you alright?"

England sighed.

"Not really. I haven't slept in two days and my head is killing me."

America got up, walking over to the desk, frowning.

"Dude, that's not healthy. Maybe you should just… lie down or something."

"I can't, I have to finish this or it's going to pile up even more."

After ten minutes more of working, Arthur finally put his pen down.

"I can't do this anymore, I feel sick," he said, resting his head on the table in resignation.

"Maybe I should just take a short nap. Will you wake me up in ten minutes?"

"No way, you're going straight to bed and sleep properly now," America proclaimed and helped the other nation up, slightly dragging him along to the bedroom, ignoring England's weak protests.

He was too tired to put up a proper fight anyway.

As soon as the overworked nation hit the covers he was fast asleep. And he probably wouldn't wake up anytime soon.

After making sure that the other was comfortable and out like a light, America walked back into the study, looking through the papers. Most of them weren't even important! The government has secretaries for this kind of work; a nation shouldn't even be bothered with this… The rest of them were nothing he couldn't handle himself.

Well, he was going to sort things out.

It was late in the afternoon of the next day when Arthur stirred awake. He lazily blinked at the numbers on his alarm clock. When he realized just how long he has slept he sat up abruptly. Bloody hell, why hadn't the hamburger idiot woken him up?!

Arthur stumbled to his study. But when he got to his desk he saw that there was almost nothing left of the piles he was forced to leave unattended yesterday. The surface was clear, beside of a few important documents that still needed his signature.

He stood there in astonishment.

America! Where was that idiot?

Just as he went to the kitchen to look for him, he heard the front door unlock and America entered, carrying two paper bags of take-out food.

"Hey, you're awake! Had a good sleep?" he said cheerfully.

"I've brought you some food, you must be starved.

Weren't you the one who always told me to take better care of myself?"

Just then, Arthur's stomach grumbled.

"Food…right…"

He blushed.

"I hope it isn't-"

"It's not McDonalds, if that's what you're asking. Not for you anyway. I've got you something else."

"Oh, how considerate of you," Arthur said as he sat down.

"So, mind telling me what happened to my paperwork?"

"Don't worry; I have taken care of it. Just sign the few documents that are left and you're good."

"Well, thank you I guess." Arthur smiled. America could be so considerate and sometimes.

"Soo, want to go out now that you're free?" America asked casually.

They haven't done anything fun together lately, so maybe dragging England out to the newest Hollywood movie like he intended to do right from the start seemed like a good idea to him.

And Arthur would gladly go along with the boisterous American. No matter how much he complained about the stupid movies, the fast food or the loud antics of the other, he was glad for the distraction.

And he was thankful for the help.


	28. May 28th, 2014

May 28th, 2014 - Bonfire Hearts

**AUTHOR: **backwardswriter

**May 28th, 2014 - Bonfire Hearts**

It had been hours. _Hours. _Arthur's lower back was screaming in agony, his hips felt like they'd never move again, and his arse was on an all out strike. He couldn't remember the time he'd gone for this long before and his body was absolutely rebelling against the harsh treatment. And for good reason.

No matter what Alfred said, human bodies were not designed to be on horseback for an entire day.

Arthur had agreed to a visit to Alfred's family ranch, thinking it a lovely way to get to know his boyfriend better. They'd only been dating for a few months and Arthur hadn't even known Alfred's family owned a ranch. It seemed like a perfect first holiday away together.

The ranch was beautiful, just as Alfred had described when he'd asked Arthur to visit with him and during the entire drive down from the city. A huge expanse of land scattered with mesquite trees and cattle, with the ranch house and barn directly in the center on a hill just high enough to allow a spectacular three-sixty view of the property. When they'd first arrived, Arthur had been in awe of the picture-perfect scenery.

They'd spent the night together in the ranch house, which was large and rustic and comfortable. And, most importantly, empty save for them. They'd taken full advantage of that. But over breakfast, Alfred had announced that that day would be spent entirely on horseback. He wanted to show Arthur the lay of the land as it was meant to be seen. After a bit of convincing, Arthur agreed to the idea. He'd had riding lessons as a child- though in English style rather than Western- and had to admit he was eager to get back in the saddle, so to speak.

Of course, now, he was severely regretting it. They'd been in the saddle since noon, after they'd packed supplies and saddled their mounts- Alfred had mercifully given him the old mare rather than the spirited gelding- and now the sun was beginning to set. Arthur was starting to think he may never walk right again.

"Alfred, how much longer until we get back to the house?" he finally called out, voice exhausted and admittedly a bit whiny.

Alfred looked back at Arthur, pulling his horse to a halt and frowning. He'd been animatedly explaining the history of the largest tree on the ranch, which they'd passed about an acre back, and was a bit put off that Arthur had just interrupted him like that. But he was really more confused than anything. "Back to the house?" he asked. "Honey, we ain't goin' back."

Arthur blinked before frowning and frantically twisting around, looking for some sign of the ranch house, as if Alfred was joking and it was really just around the next shrub. "What do you mean we're not going back?!" he exclaimed, too caught up in that to bother reprimanding Alfred on the use of that obnoxious pet name.

"I told you we were gonna spend the day outside," Alfred said, an amused arch in his eyebrows. "What'd you think I meant?"

Arthur stared at him for a moment. "That we were going to spend the _night_ inside?!" he finally exclaimed, making a jerky gesture with his free hand. "Alfred, where are we going to sleep? What are we going to eat? What about animals?!"

"Calm down," Alfred chuckled, turning his bay around and walking back so that he was side-by-side with Arthur. "You gotta give me a little more credit than that. I've thought it through, I promise. Why do you think I took me so long to get us packed?"

Arthur's jaw moved soundlessly as his eyes ran over the various packs strapped to Alfred's saddle. He'd just assumed that was standard ranch-roaming equipment. "Food?"

"Yeah."

"Blankets?"

"Yup."

"Tent?"

Alfred hesitated. "I didn't figure we needed a tent," he said. "It's been clear all day and tonight's not supposed to be all that different. I figured it'd be more fun for it to be just us under the stars." He gave a crooked grin. "That alright? Or you wanna ride back to get the tent?"

Arthur could practically hear his joints groaning at the mere thought. "I suppose not," he mumbled anxiously.

Alfred offered a soft smile and reached out to pat Arthur's knee. "You don't have to worry," he assured him. "I've done this a thousand times before. And besides, it's just one night. Don't you trust me to take care of you for one night?"

Arthur looked up in surprise at the question, his lips popping when he opened his mouth. He didn't have a chance to answer before Alfred had turned his horse back around. "C'mon, we're almost there," he called over his shoulder, jogging down the trail. "It's just over that hill."

Arthur sighed heavily and urged his mare forward after Alfred's. He hoped it'd be worth the ride, at least.

And bloody hell, was it ever. 'That hill' turned out to be much larger than the average Texas hill. It was a gradual incline, not to strenuous, but at the top it dropped off in a steep slope. The view was… beyond incredible. Arthur's jaw was slack as his eyes scanned over the heard of cattle that looked like small black and brown sheep below, grazing on the lush, spring grass that was nursed by a river coursing through the property.

"Pa wanted to build the ranch here." Arthur blinked before realizing Alfred was talking to him. He closed his mouth and looked over at the other. Alfred wasn't looking at him though. He was staring down at the view, the sun glinting off his glasses and hiding his eyes from view. "He wanted to build it here because he wanted to wake up and see this every morning. Mom talking him out of it, though. She said if this is what he saw every day, it'd only be a matter of time before he took it for granted. So we made this our campsite instead. Every time we visited, we would come out here at least one night just to remind ourselves that things like this still existed."

Arthur watched Alfred silently, waiting for him to continue. But he didn't. Instead he just looked at Arthur with a warm smile. "What do you think?" he asked finally.

Arthur shook his head, speechless. Alfred chuckled. "That's what I said when Pa first brought me out here," he said. "That's what everyone says."

They made camp. There was a makeshift fire pit that remained there from frequent use. Alfred lit a small fire and Arthur tied the horses to a small post, giving them enough lead to graze while he unpacked their saddles. He laid out their blankets and sat down in front of the pit with the food beside him. He was silent as he watched Alfred build the fire with an attractive sort of efficiency. Finally, the spark took. Alfred made a sound of victory and sat back with a sigh, taking the food out of its packing along with the skewers. Arthur was only slightly disappointed to find out they would be having hot dogs for dinner.

They chatted casually as they cooked and ate, talking more about the ranch and Alfred's family and the horses and Arthur's family and their jobs and life and everything. It was comfortable and pleasant and in that moment Arthur didn't give a damn about his aching body or about how it would hurt so much more in the morning or about how he was spending his holiday getting a horrid sunburn instead of basking in the glow of the television. He couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

After dinner, they cleaned up their things but left the fire going, the only light in the dark expanse of their little campsite. Arthur wrapped his arms around his knees and leaned his head against Alfred's shoulder. He felt a strong arm wrap around him and a stubbly cheek press against his hair and he all but melted into Alfred's side. Alfred was silent, which was a miracle in and of itself, and Arthur found himself becoming part of the landscape as he listened to the unique sounds of the land. "You want to know what I think," he whispered, as if he were afraid he would scare the moment away if he spoke too loudly. "I think your mother was mad when she said that."

Alfred was quiet for a long moment and for a moment Arthur thought maybe he hadn't spoken loud enough, or even at all. But then Alfred asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well," Arthur said, his voice taking on his 'teacher' tone Alfred often pointed out, "I don't believe anyone could ever truly take a view like this for granted. I don't believe anyone could take something as beautiful as this for granted. It's easy to take some every day things for granted, like food and air conditioning and things like that, but this could never be every day. Even if you woke up to it every day, it would never really be _every day__._"

There was another long moment of quiet, but this time Arthur could feel Alfred thinking. "So you think that even if you woke up to the most beautiful thing in the world every day… you'd still think it was the most beautiful thing in the world? You wouldn't get tired of it?"

Arthur sat up straighter, forcing Alfred's head off of his so he could look Alfred directly in the eye. "No," he said softly, a small smile twitching at his lips. "No, I don't believe I would ever get tired of that."

Arthur thought he saw something in Alfred's gaze, something raw and open and… and loving. But in a flash it was gone, so quick it was probably simply his imagination. But he was sure he didn't imagine the way Alfred smiled at him that night, nor the kiss they shared in the glow of the fire.


	29. May 29th, 2014

May 29th, 2014 - Crash into Hello

**AUTHOR: **zeplerfer

**May 29th, 2014 - Crash into Hello**

"Mummy, what is 'holy shit'?" Arthur asked as he played with the bubbles in his bath.

She sighed, but continued rinsing the toddler's hair. "Who told you that?"

"Dad said it. Dad said it was how I'd know my soul…" Arthur frowned in confusion, trying to remember his father's exact words. "Soul cake?"

"Soulmate, dear. It's the person you're meant to be with and love most in the world."

"And that's what holy shit means?"

She smiled and brushed away the bubbles that covered Arthur's chest. Just above his heart were four tattooed words: 'Holy shit, watch out!'. She traced them gently. "These are the first words your soulmate will say to you. It's an expression of shock or surprise, but you shouldn't use the phrase because they're naughty words."

Arthur nodded. "Do you think I'll meet my soulmate soon?" he asked.

"Oh goodness, I hope not. Your soulmate would have to be much older than you to go around using this sort of language." She lifted him out of the bath and began drying him with a soft, fluffy towel. "Don't worry, sweetie, I'm sure you'll know it when the time is right."

For the next twenty years, Arthur kept his ears perked for swear words. College proved to be rather difficult, with his classmates cussing at every turn. They thought that Arthur was a goody-two-shoes for glaring at their swears, but really he just wanted them to shut up so he would know his soulmate's words when he heard them. Eventually he decided to take his mother's advice and just stop worrying. It would happen eventually.

'Eventually' turned out to be a sunny day when Arthur was late for class and pedaling furiously across campus. When he heard the shout, it took a moment to register.

"Holy shit, watch out!"

Arthur snapped his head to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of his soulmate, but he didn't see anything before another bicycle slammed into his, sending him flying to the ground. The next thing he knew, he was staring up at the sky with his bicycle pinned on top of him, wondering what just happened. The painful metal wheel was lifted off him a moment later and a young man dropped to his side.

"Hey, are you okay?"

The face blurred in front of Arthur's eyes. The bump on his head hurt and everything seemed a little foggy. He kept thinking that he was going to be late for class, but it felt like there was something else that he needed to remember. Something important.

"Come on, say something. What's your name? How many fingers am I holding?"

"Arthur," he mumbled, trying to focus his eyes before wagering a guess on the number of swaying fingers. "Four?"

The other man's expression changed into a look of shock and then glee. "Arthur! Oh, man. I've been waiting forever to meet you."

"I think I hurt my head," Arthur replied, still feeling dazed and confused.

"Yeah, I think you did too. I was only holding up two fingers." The young man smiled as he helped Arthur to his feet, wrapping a steadying arm around the smaller man's waist. It all felt overly familiar, but Arthur was grateful for the support as another wave of dizziness threatened to send him reeling to the ground. It was worse than being drunk. And Arthur couldn't understand for the life of him why the other man seemed so happy about his injury. He kept smiling and even introduced himself: "I'm Alfred, by the way."

"Where's my bicycle? I need to go to class."

"Don't worry about the bike, I already stuck it in the rack. I can come get it later." Alfred gently pulled Arthur toward the student health center. "You've got a concussion, sweetie. You need to see the nurse. And afterwards, hey… maybe dinner and a movie?"

There was so much wrong in that sentence that Arthur didn't even know where to start. "Sweetie?" he sputtered indignantly.

"You don't like that one? Don't worry, I've got a whole list of pet names I've been saving! You can pick whichever one you like best." Alfred's grin finally faltered when he noticed Arthur's look of complete confusion. "You said… well, I was so sure… uh, what are your soulmate words?"

"Holy shit, watch out," Arthur said by rote memory. Then it finally clicked as he remembered the hazy moments before the bike accident. "Oh, oh."

Alfred's grin returned in full force, virtually rivaling the sun for brilliance. Arthur felt a pleasant warmth begin to pool in his stomach. It was a very nice smile. He could see himself getting used to that nice grin and the warm arm around his waist. There was really only one thing he had been waiting to say:

"My mum thinks you swear too much."


	30. May 30th, 2014

May 30th, 2014

**AUTHOR: **demotif

**May 30th, 2014**

England entered the coffee shop quietly, making sure to push the sunglasses as far up as they could go in order to best conceal his gaze. He slipped into a table near the window and unfurled the newspaper he'd been handed on his way into the tube that morning. Carefully, he peered over the top of the page and set his sights on his target: a young, blonde male with glasses, a ratty sweatshirt, trainers that were a size too big and jeans that were a size too small. He was seated at a small table in the middle of the café with a mug in his hands and a soft look in his eyes as he stared out towards the window rather pensively.

Wait, all right, enough with this pretend espionage detailing—since when has America ever looked pensively at anything?

He had received word from national intelligence that America had been spotted wandering the streets of London. There were no records of any official business he could have been in town for, so they had wanted to check with England to see if he had come for a personal visit. Which, of course, he had not; the stupid boy had made it pretty clear in the past that if he had free time he wouldn't want to spend it in such a dreary city. So why in the world had America shown up at a coffee shop in East London?

His first guess had been that America must have been up to some espionage of his own; it was becoming quite a nasty habit of his as of late, whether he spying on other countries or on his own citizens. But it certainly didn't look like the lad was up to anything devious—he hadn't made much of an attempt to subdue that "I'm an American!" vibe constantly emanating from him and he hadn't even pulled out a laptop or a mobile so he wasn't communicating with anyone and did he just sigh longingly at that bag of tea in his hands?

England's thoughts stuttered as he connected that small sound with the normally loud and obnoxious man it had come from. That was no ordinary sigh of boredom or early morning sigh of defeat. That was the kind of sigh England let out whenever he would look through old photos of the two of them together, back during days past when they actually spent time together (even if it _was_ for the sake of a global war). It was the kind of sigh that came after he would daydream of America showing up like this one day, completely unannounced, except he'd be at England's front door with flowers rather than at a random café in the city holding a bag of tea and sighing like he was some fool in love.

Yes, England had been around for long enough to know what prompted that kind of a sigh. Of course, America certainly wasn't thinking about _him_, that'd be preposterous, there was probably some other tea-loving bastard he fancied. Absolutely. Yet even with this definitely true fact in mind, England felt his face turning a telltale scarlet in response. He quickly raised his hands to cover the face that had betrayed him, felt his pulse beating rapidly under his cheeks, and let out a silent moan of defeat.

England slid his sunglasses off his face, tucked the paper under his arm, and backed out of his seat noisily enough to make the American jump. All eyes in the café turned to England for a moment, but only one pair widened in shock at the sight of him.

"Eng—" America stuttered, quickly lifting a hand to his face to cover his red cheeks—"er, Arthur!" England narrowed his eyes at the boy and America laughed awkwardly in response, moving the hand in front of his face to the back of his head as he tried to ruffle his hair nonchalantly. "Hey, uh, what're you doing here?"

"I hardly think _you_ should be the one asking that question, you bloody—" England replied haughtily, ending his statement by whapping America on the arm with his newspaper.

With a nervous chuckle, America rose up out of his seat and said, "I can explain."

England rolled his eyes. "Yes, please, explain why you decided to take a holiday to this café in my city—"

"_Your_ city? Are you the mayor now?"

"—so that you could stare at a bag of tea like it was your long lost love?"

England didn't think it could be possible for America's face to get any redder, but he was pleasantly surprised to see that he was wrong. "Oh," America said quietly. "You… saw all that?"

What was this? Was America actually embarrassed for the first time in his existence? England felt his pulse race again with the fleeting thought of how cute he looked with beet red cheeks but, more importantly than that, he felt a smug grin stretching the corners of his mouth.

"I did indeed," England answered, his eyes narrowing mischievously. With a shrug of his shoulders he added, "And if you don't want the other nations hearing about your illicit tea love affair at the next World Summit, it might be in your best interest to buy me a drink."

Now America was the one narrowing his eyes, though his gaze had taken a steely turn. "You suck, you know that?" He shook his head and started walking toward the barista. Over his shoulder he asked, "Still take it with milk?"

"Yes, thank you," England called in response as he sat himself down at America's table. He took a moment to straighten his jacket, picked up the tea bag sitting in front of America's seat, and tucked it into his suit pocket with a private smile.


	31. May 31st, 2014

May 31st, 2014 - Change

**ARTIST: **Kyle

**AUTHOR: **Kar-Kar93

**May 31st, 2014 - Change**

I was comfortable with my house, comfortable with my life, comfortable with my friends, and after years of putting up walls I was finally comfortable without _him_. I was finally content with the fact that I could no longer be friends with _him_ for I knew that it would go against everything this house stood for. I was more than comfortable, in fact, I would even go so far as to say that I was happy about it. _He _however was not. _He _was stubborn, and determined, and _he_ simply would not let me go, _he _was unable to move on.

It wasn't always this way…things used to be different between us. There was a time, years ago and long before we first stepped upon school grounds, when we were more than best friends. A time where we were practically brothers, bound by everything but blood. There was a time, long ago, when I wouldn't push _him_ away, when I would have scoffed at the idea of something as fickle as a hat ruining something so _good. _As it happened fate decided to separate us; for _he _was sorted to Gryffindor and I into Slytherin.

I hated it at first, all of it, the distance, the prejudices, the rivalries, the hatred between our houses, but there was nothing I hated more than standing by as they referred to _him _as something fowl, and unworthy of magic. I hated it, but who was I to stop them? I wasn't the hero, and I was definitely not going make things worse for _him_, besides _he _seemed to handle himself just fine amongst the harsh words from my housemates. I hated it at first, all of it, but I got used to it and with careful practice I was able to turn my back on it. Even _him_, if only because I believed it for the best…he would be better without me.

As the years passed by I had grown to accept my fate for what it was. _He _and I could never be friends, we were from different houses and, some would say, different worlds. _His _kind and my kind weren't supposed to befriend each other. _He_, however refused to accept this, and _he_ continued trying to get my attention. Trying to remind me of what we used to have. _He _wanted me to remember what I had pushed away. It was a cruel game we played, and for all the grief _he_ caused me I'm certain that, that had the hat chosen differently, _he_ would have made quite the name for himself in Slytherin.

There were things about _him_ that I couldn't ignore, things that I would never forget. Things like the vibrancy of _his _smiles,_ his_ exuberant attitude towards life and change…and how you could see the depths of the ocean in the glistening blue gems that were _his_ eyes. _He _was opinionated and he was oh so very pure. _His_ very existence contradicted the values I was to follow; _he_ was the muggle-born definition of purity and I was the very definition of corruption. I was selfish when it came to _him._

I guess I was afraid corrupting _him_, of trapping _him_ in the shadows. I was stupid, and stubborn and selfish and after six long years of trying to avoid _him_, of trying to push _him _away _he_ finally snapped and I finally remembered how to open my eyes. _He_ reminded me of what I lost. _He _told me that he was done waiting, and that _he_ would do whatever it took to get me back. I lost my resolve amidst the darkened hallways of Hogwarts when _he_ ended the conversation with a stolen kiss. We were both selfish, and on that night I finally realized that I was selfish for all the wrong reasons. I spent so much time trying to push_ him _away that I had forgotten what it meant to _have_ him with me.

My name is Arthur Kirkland, and on May the 31st of this year Alfred F. Jones took back what I should have never taken away. My name is Arthur Kirkland and I haven't been this happy in years.


End file.
